The Art of Deception
by Animatized
Summary: Gippal is a rather lucky man on many aspects. His job, his money, his fame, his lovelife. Women flock after him everywhere he goes. But when it comes to men, can he have the same effect? Gippalai.
1. Spurring Action

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X-2, or any Final Fantasy game whatsoever. Sadly, Squaresoft has the credit and the money while I have nothing but dirty socks.

**Please read:**

A/N: Animatized is a writing duo between Kimiko Hiraki and myself, Natsue Arishima. Kimi will not be participating in this story, though it was her obsession with Gippalai that inspired me, so I thought that she deserved some credit.

This is my second story that I plan to work seriously on, meaning no distractions (though I can't say that I won't be drifting between updates), a good outline, and no forcing myself to write whatsoever, since that sometimes creates the opposite effect that I had aimed for. To be fair, as a pre-warning, I am sure that updates will be rather slow, but unless I state so myself, I will not abandon this story (hopefully…). Reviews really do make my day, so please drop a note of what you think. Constructive criticism will also help, since every author enjoys perfecting his or her writing, and flames will do nothing but warm my feet.

I will do my best for the characters to be believable in my perspective of them, though I cannot promise that this will appeal to every reader out there (stating the obvious). Also, for those people who enjoy reading nothing but smut and lemons with no plot whatsoever, I suggest you turn back and read another story, for the rating is just in case I get carried away, and if I do, it won't be in the first few chapters. I believe in introducing the characters completely before giving them any action at all. Yes, you too, Gippal.

You have been warned… (insert corny, maniacal laughter)

**The Art of Deception**  
Natsue Arishima 

**Spurring Action**

Gippal knew he was irresistible. Not egotistically either.

Right.

Gippal also knew that everything came with a price, some for the better and some for the worse. And because he was so irresistible, unwanted attention was often an unrequited gift. No, attention wasn't bad. He basked in the spotlight. But when this attention became so large and vast, it was quite understandable when he began to get the slightest bit edgy. Especially when said attention slowly grew to the potential of a mob.

It is a common thought that one so irresistible would be undoubtedly happy, and that was what Gippal was: in love with his life. But the word 'happy' has numerous meanings, two of which come to effect in this case. The first definition suggests a feeling of great pleasure and contentment. The second definition suggests a feeling of great pleasure and contentment with a soul mate.

A woman, in this case.

Which proved a difficult factor for Gippal.

----------

Djose Temple. Previously the realm of Ixion, now the abode of the Machine Faction. Where summoners had once approached in apprehension and duty, Al Bhed now came to it with all the familiarity of Home. The temple still held its mysterious and grand demeanor, but the previous awe that it had once inflicted on visitors had somewhat diminished of late, with the constant static of electricity, the cries of the Al Bhed, and the clicks of machina.

Some people would call the effect rather degrading to the Fayth, a belief most likely spurred off of their hatred for the Al Bhed that had never passed away, despite the fact that the High Summoner herself and most of the inhabitants of Spira trusted them. The uniting speech between the Youth League, New Yevon, and the Machine Faction a year ago, however, had cut down the rumors and cooled doubt, especially on the female half after they realized just how charming the leader of the Machine Faction was.

Said leader was currently a sight to see, shirtless and drenched with sweat, thin pants hanging off of a surprisingly slim waist.

"Gippal! Nyz'm ud sylurk ecyrk?" (1)

Wiping the perspiration off of his brow with the back of his hand, Gippal looked up from his work, his other hand smoothly detaching an awkward piece of metal from the motionless machine, gleaming boldly under the rays of the persistent sun. Evident surprise graced his features, a clear, cerulean eye blinking quickly before his trademark grin tugged at his lips.

"Already gotten bored of that junky ship, Cid?" he asked smoothly, raising an eyebrow before jumping onto the ground. Dark stains of oil and grease had been boldly imprinted upon his pants where he had cleaned off his hands, not having bothered with a towel.

The older man's eyes narrowed. "Watch what you call junky, boy, especially compared to that piece of shit." Cid spat on the ground, punching Gippal's shoulder as he eyed the miserable yet surprisingly familiar pile of parts that the Al Bhed had been previously working on.

His eyes betrayed his rigid words, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly.

"Don't push it, old man," Gippal drawled, rubbing at his eye patch before heading for the temple. "She'll be a beauty once I'm done with her."

Behind him, Cid scoffed before following, his heavy boots thudding sharply on the firm, cracked earth.

Laughing as his disbelief, Gippal turned, running his hand through golden locks. "So, how's that pretty girl of yours been?" the man teased, resuming his usual stance with a hand on his hips. Cid grunted in reply, his harsh voice cutting sharply through the air. "Don't you get any ideas, or you'll fucking regret it, hear?" he snarled. Gippal held up his hands, still grinning his irritating smirk, and the other sighed.

"I promise I won't start anything, but if she hits on me, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop myself."

Dodging a wild blow, he was given a sharp glare instead. Laughing again, he pushed open the smooth, worn down doors of the temple and walked in, eyes quickly adjusting to the slight dim, a pale azure glow lighting the familiar corridor.

Every step echoed throughout the grand hall, despite the muffled results of the intricately fashioned carpet. Waving to several of his workers, many of whom were crowded around the base of the Cloister, Gippal made a beeline towards a slightly worn down statue of a past summoner in the left-hand corner of the hall, his room being directly behind it. Stepping inside, past the already open birch door, he snapped his fingers twice. There was a click and the room was bathed in sudden light.

It couldn't really be called a bedroom, being more along the lines of a study. It was his comfort zone, corny but true. Random articles of clothing and books littered the floor, while the walls were hidden behind bookcases and half-hung posters. There was a small bed on the far side of the circular chamber, and a desk had been placed at the foot of it, cluttered with papers, sketches and a small lamp, surprisingly bright, the only source of light within the premises. Boxes took up the remainder of the room, several opened while others looked untouched for years, dust growing on their faces, labeled with tags in countless languages.

Despite the lack of a window, the room seemed to glow and radiate a homeliness that was seemingly unfit for words. It may have been messy at first glance, but the scattered accessories did nothing but add to the comfortable and easy atmosphere until they were no longer scrutinized and were instead accepted. It was so… so like Gippal.

Cid raised his eyebrows. How sickening.

"Not the clean sort, I see," the man muttered near the doorway, blinking at a pair of earrings he spotted glinting off the desk. That was odd. Gippal grinned but didn't comment as he strode over to a wooden crate with different variations of the word 'danger' taped all over its sides, memories ringing throughout his mind of previous exclamations by countless people spurred on by the sight room.

Opening the lid of the seemingly dangerous box and tossing it carelessly to onto the partially buried carpet, a few seconds were spent rummaging through its many contents, pants riding precariously low, before Gippal straightened up again, a wrench held tightly within his grip.

Cid raised an eyebrow, glancing from the tool and the box as if following a blitzball rally. Gruff eyes finally focused back on the youthful face. "Danger? What the hell is up with that? Someone's been fucking around with your mind." Gippal gazed up at him with a mockingly indignant face. "What, you've never been hit with a wrench? Believe me, hurts like hell."

He distinctly heard Cid grumble something along the lines of "fucking asshole" under his breath.

"So, any particular reason that you're following me around, or have you been bound to my stunning looks like all the others?" the younger man questioned, a gleam to his eye as he struck a pose and Cid furrowed his brows, scoffing again. "Cocky bastard," he snarled, crossing his arms over a broad chest.

"At least you got something right."

Ignoring his comment, Cid pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped away. "If you see Brother and Rikku, tell them that they'd better come to me with a fucking good excuse over the damage or there'll be hell to pay."

"Damage?"

"Mind your own business, zyler." (2)

Gippal blinked, the word taking several seconds to sink in before he registered its definition. Severely insulted, he barged out of his room, snapping out a string of curses and threats of a painful death while waving the wrench above his head. But Cid was already halfway out of the temple, grinning silently to himself. Sighing and rolling his eyes, Gippal smiled.

It had been a while.

----------

Over the past year, Gippal had spent most of his time with the Machine Faction, reassuring his workers that there would be no peculiar stuff from then forward. No disappearances, no fighting best friends, no kidnappings and no reflecting on his former experiences again. Meaning no wallowing in self-depression. The list had been long and sudden, not to mention horribly tedious, leaving Gippal to believe personally that he had done a good job with it, despite the fact that most of the time, it wasn't his fault that he was constantly in trouble. Trouble usually came to him.

He had been disappointed when the six of them had gone their separate ways. He had been expecting more of a reunion instead, not a silent farewell. Yuna had returned to Besaid with that strange boy that had looked stunningly like Shuyin. Paine was still a sphere hunter, while Rikku… he didn't know what happened to her, but considering the afternoon's events, she was bound to drop by soon. Nooj had left for his Youth League, those bastards, but had most likely been unable to escape the grasp of that LeBlanc woman. Annoying as she was, she sure as hell was dedicated.

Poor guy, really.

Baralai though, he had been different. Despite constant calls from Bevelle, he had insisted on staying for a while. And, Gippal mused, his company had been nice. He was always there when needed, over work as well as stress. The man had a damn good massage as well…

Gippal smirked. They had spent so much time together that rumors had begun over their relationship. Gippal himself had flounced around for a whole week claiming Baralai as his wife. Said 'wife' had merely blushed and said nothing, though he hadn't punched Gippal for it either, so he assumed there had been no hard feelings…

The one annoying factor with Baralai was that the attention of the girls had split between the two of them during his brief stay. The praetor of New Yevon had also been rather naïve over the looks he had been receiving from the innocent yet unknowingly sexy movements that he had a habit of accomplishing, something that drove Gippal continuously to an edge.

He had finally informed Baralai of his actions after the two of them finished working on a particular rusty machina, where the praetor had been rather prone to bending over for the tools that the Al Bhed had requested. Another factor that hadn't exactly helped had been resulted by the white-haired youth wearing impossibly tight and holey pants (they had been a present to Gippal when he had turned fifteen, and even then had been a little snug). The man had merely blinked before laughing, claiming Gippal to have been acting and thinking a little too rashly before bending over again to fetch the screwdriver.

He had to admit, it really sucked when Baralai left.

He hadn't been the only person who had felt like that either. In fact, the whole of the Machine Faction had been affected by his leave, as had everyone else who had lived in the general vicinity around the temple, being unable to tease their leader anymore, or so they said.

Therefore, it was quite understandable when Gippal grew deliriously happy by a call from the praetor several weeks ago. It seemed as if Baralai, while having nothing better to do and claiming deathlike boredom from his work, was hosting a reunion for the anniversary of Shuyin's defeat.

Shuyin's defeat. Now _that_ had been bizarre, though Gippal still strongly believed that the bastard should have deserved less than a happily-ever-after, despite what Yuna and Rikku claimed, gushing shamelessly over the sweetness of reuniting two souls lost for a thousand years. Eck. Okay, so it had been rather touching while witnessing the actual thing, and Lenne had been a babe, but there was just something about the guy that pissed Gippal off to no end. Perhaps it was his violent nature. Or perhaps it was because he had turned everyone against each other. He had been the cause of Nooj betraying them. He had also taken over Baralai, and that was something that infuriated Gippal even more. Why? He didn't know.

Sighing, the Al Bhed stared down at the machina that he had been working on since last night, unbearably hot from the sun. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, still uncertain about what it was. It was enormous, large enough to support three grown men lying spread eagle upon its back. Over the course of the day, it had slowly begun to take shape, more dog-like than anything else, though he couldn't be positive. Ah well. The lady, the name he didn't know, having not been present when she called, had promised a good one hundred thousand gil, and Gippal sure as hell wasn't about to pass that up.

His attention was diverted as a large crowd of people stepped off the stone bridge that linked Mushroom Rock Road to Djose, footsteps almost thunderous against stone as they headed towards the temple. Several members of the sudden party possessed familiar faces, mostly the women he had met from his brief dating spree a few months ago.

Sending a dazzling grin towards certain individuals he had taking an interest to during previous, short dinners, he wasn't surprised when some of them raised eyebrows and turned the other way, while the majority looked towards the ground with flushed cheeks, bashful by his partially nude appearance.

Yep, he still had it. Score.

Yet… Jumping down to retrieve a pair of pliers, Gippal frowned in thought, running his hand through his hair. Strangely enough, it seemed that the more outings he was engaged in, the further away his perfect woman seemed to drift. He truthfully couldn't remember the last time he had felt thoroughly love-struck. Sure, there had been that one time with Tera, and also that fling with Lani… But had that really been true affection?

He wasn't sure.

The irony.

A tanned hand hesitated prior to reaching for a water bottle instead of its earlier target.

Pouring some of the refreshing liquid onto his palm, Gippal rubbed the back of his neck gingerly, working out the knots. Hissing as a series of small cracks were emitted, the Al Bhed tried picturing a perfect partner to block out the pain, shutting his eyes and leaning on the machina behind him. It was so cool under the giant machine's shadow, almost as if he had stepped inside to the blessed invention of air conditioning.

She would have dark hair… no. Something about that wasn't right. A brunette? Or… light hair, short and smooth. Not blond; maybe silver. Yes, silver. Silver, with dark skin and darker eyes. Eyes with wits yet also capable of expressing emotions and sentiment, eyes that were never cold. A nice smile, nice lips. Nice, kissable lips…

Gippal smirked, stepping quickly towards the toolbox once more, only slightly regretting the sudden departure from his previous, cool sanctuary as his thoughts were on more important matters. Replacing his bottle with a pair of small pliers and several screws, he clambered back onto the machina again, fluently this time, having already memorized its strange curves and bumps. Because of this rather convenient factor, his thoughts were allowed to drift from the task currently at hand and continued to race through his mind as he completed the body of his angel. Hey, it was his mind! No limitations whatsoever.

Mmm…

Several hours were spent afterwards humming happily and working at an extremely rapid pace until his excitement eventually wore off, especially after he realized, to his great disappointment, that having gigantic breasts with a tiny waist wouldn't exactly be appealing. And for some strange reason, they looked awkward with the face he had pictured.

Pity.

Actually, now that he spent time pondering on it, what was it of females that lured him? Their personality? It was surprisingly not that great, Gippal realized with a jolt. They were fun to be around, but when it came to even the most trivial affairs, there was always a little insight on a flailing temper. So then was it the body? Smooth, soft skin, breasts. The supposedly "hour-glass" shape. Sure it was nice, but besides that, was there anything else?

How would it feel, he wondered (perhaps a little too dramatically), to be single for the rest of his life? To be absolutely free, with no one holding him back. He wasn't saying that the company of a woman was bad; it was relatively relaxing and enjoyable (not counting the sex, Gippal thought with a grin), but even the most patient guy would snap after reassuring a person of their love five times a day.

Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating a little bit.

Gippal scoffed, beginning to confuse himself with how little emotion he was experiencing with these thoughts. It must be the damn heat, though to be honest, it wasn't the first time that these perplexing emotions had come to mind. And though he found interest in puzzles and riddles, this one he did not enjoy. Not only was it a blow to him mentally, it was also a blow to his reputation.

He was Gippal, the guy that girls literally fell for, able to look sexy even with the loss of an eye.

For him to lose interest in them would only mean disaster.

Wiping the sweat off his face, he shifted his position, lying on his back. He winced slightly, squirming as small pieces of metal jabbed sharply into his back. Minutes later, he sighed and relaxed, gazing at the faultless, blue sky, not a cloud in sight, the view soothing him somewhat. It was like a perfect ocean, so serene and untouchable…

He perked up suddenly, an extremely familiar voice drifting towards him from within the confinement of the small hut to his left. Propping up onto an elbow, he twisted his neck around, narrowing his eye towards the glass-less window, where he could distinctly make out the familiar shape of his secretary, who seemed to be in an animated discussion with a young woman.

From where he was, he couldn't make out her dress, but she was obviously an Al Bhed, the fluency she possessed of the code (3) quite apparent from the snatches of conversation Gippal caught. Her slim figure was outlined against the dark wall, a figure that he wasn't capable of easily forgetting.

The girl was waving her hands around as she spoke. Gippal watched with amusement, now certain who she was. Giving a final exasperated sigh and muttering something that suspiciously sounded like "neuha pemdeht" (4) (Gippal's lips quirked up at this comment), she stalked out of the hut, carelessly slamming the door shut behind her.

Now under decent light from the sun, her garb was easily visible, strange as it was. She was scantily clad, wearing a simple yellow bikini top, the bottom piece Gippal assumed was hidden under the pair of shorts. An amber scarf had been wrapped securely around her neck, though it wasn't nearly as random as her wild yet strangely attractive hair, golden locks adorned with stray, scattered braids.

Her verdant eyes, swirled like those of most Al Bhed (Gippal himself was an exception), were glowering with inner fury, lips that were usually up in a bubbly smile now pressed in a thin line. The man could have sworn that her nostrils were emitting smoke.

If there was anything that perturbed Gippal, it was things being altered, something in this case that he fortunately didn't have to worry about.

Nope. Rikku hadn't changed at all.

Smirking, Gippal twisting onto his stomach, pushing himself off the machina as he hollered towards the blond who had been quickly marching towards the temple. "Oy. Cid's girl!" The comment was followed by his usual pose, once more standing with his hand on his hip.

Rikku twitched visibly at the voice, inches away from the temple entrance, slowly turning while glaring daggers at the Al Bhed man she knew would be standing close by. "I have a name, you know!" she snapped back, and Gippal smiled. Her typical, childish response, though his words hadn't really been much better. Strangely enough, it was nice, knowing that there had been no shift between their, er… unique relationship (which involved taunts, death threats, screaming and teasing), despite the year that had passed.

He blinked in surprise when her emerald glare, one that would have sent anyone but himself and perhaps the other members of the disbanded YRP quivering in fear, suddenly cooled as they focused on something over his right shoulder. Then, to make things even more bizarre, she suddenly lunged forward, sprinting at a surprisingly rapid pace towards the stunned man, all the while blabbering something horribly like, "Maw! Mawly! I've missed you so much!"

Gippal wrinkled his nose.

Relief washed through him as the Al Bhed girl whipped past his frozen figure, his memories of his life no longer continuing their expeditious flashing before his eyes. Turning to see what had caused her sudden attention, he raised an eyebrow as he realized she had been conversing to the pile of shit he had been working on. Conversing, hugging, and kissing the pile of shit he had been working on, to be more precise.

"So you were the weird lady with the crapload of hopeless metal," Gippal mused, smirking as Rikku turned to glare at him again, her face plastered to bronze. "Just because you're jealous doesn't mean you have to insult Maw!" she replied, voice slightly muffled. Running a hand over… Maw… she continued whispering to the stoic machine, reassuring it that the "mean man" over there meant it no harm, and if he ever began an insult again, she would castrate him before the sentence was finished.

Her train of words stopped abruptly, a hand freezing on a point near the area Gippal assumed was Maw's head. Raising an eyebrow, Gippal was about to comment, strangely wary of his word choice (hey, he didn't want to lose an important body part), when the Al Bhed girl faced him and shrieked, "You dented him!"

Abuse quickly followed, the girl raining relentless slaps onto the stunned man.

----------

Rubbing a most likely bruising back, Gippal stepped gingerly onto the circular platform, Rikku next to him, eyes misting over as she gazed at their familiar surroundings. Rolling his eyes but unable to hold back a smile, the man stepped on a projected tile in the center of the platform. There was a shudder and the ground below his feet began to shake as it slowly levitated the two of them up to the next level.

They were in a strangely shaped corridor, the light now so slight he could barely make out his hand. Nodding towards the dark outlines of several workers near the end of the hall, where he knew they would be examining the ring of pedestals that the room contained, he headed towards a small archway, Rikku for once silent and calm besides him. Motioning for her to go first, they slowly climbed the small flight of stairs, heading closer to the remains of Experiment, and the entrance to the fayth.

As they climbed upwards, sunlight began to creep towards them, increasing their facility and pace. Gradually, the steps widened and they found themselves in a circular chamber, amber rays of the day's dying sun stretching through slits in the stone walls. They illuminated the strange emblems on the walls, fragments of Experiment that hadn't been bothered with, and the mysterious door that led to where Ixion once resided, now nothing except a gaping hole.

In front of him, Rikku hesitated before stepping towards the center of the room, steps echoing dully as they bounced off stone. Watching her, Gippal swallowed, wondering how it must feel for her to return to such a place, having witnessed it in its former glory and returned to fight the very being it had possessed. Her emotions were most likely slighter than those of Yuna, but even so, Gippal had to pity her. He knew that if he were to, for some reason, return to the Den of Woe, he would also be experiencing feelings such as hers.

The silence stretched as the girl slowly spun around, emerald eyes unreadable under the mass of gold, almost red under the light of the rays. Shifting uncomfortably, Gippal remained near the entranceway, leaning on the wall. Clearing his throat, he winced when the silence immediately shattered. He mentally bashed himself, squirming under Rikku's glazed yet surprised stare.

"So… satisfied?"

"Y-yeah…" was the hesitant reply, though she didn't move from her position, looking almost wistfully yet painfully at the strange doors.

Gippal crossed his arms, eyeing the floor. "Wanna stay here a little longer?"

She gazed at him before whispering, "Yeah." A weak smile, so different from the one she had given outside, merely minutes ago when she had requested Gippal to show her the very room they were currently in.

It was weird, without her smiling.

Gippal didn't like it.

The girl suddenly sighed, turning to Gippal almost foolishly. "I'm being stupid, aren't I?" she asked quietly, not really expecting an answer. Eyeing a spot on the floor listlessly, she wrung her hands together. "Funny. I thought I'd have been over it by now. I don't even remember feeling this bad when I fought Ixion, but…" She scratched her head, giving off another fake smile. "Guess I didn't realize just how miserable it was until after I thought about it. Knowing how the temples previously were, and how they are now after Vegnagun…"

Gippal shifted again, stepping away from the wall. "You're not being stupid, Rikku," he snapped, swallowing as she tensed at his words. Quickly, he racked his brain for another topic to talk about and asking the first thing that came to mind. "Hey, you going to Bevelle next week?" It was a weak start, but Gippal would rather act the fool than stand around uneasily. And besides, with Rikku standing almost helplessly in the room, anything attempt was worth it as long as it destroyed the silence.

It seemed to work, however, when Rikku smiled, nodding vigorously. "Yeah! Baralai asked me to go. Though _I _was supposed to host a reunion! It was my idea, and that stupid Yevonite stole it!" She pouted playfully, crossing her arms and faking tears. The previous atmosphere faded almost instantly.

Rikku snapped her fingers, hitting herself on the head with her palm. A small smack echoed throughout the room. "Oh yeah! I was supposed to tell you earlier. A month ago, actually, but I kept forgetting… Remember Devon?"

Silence, and then, "Huh?"

"Devon! You two went out before!"

Gippal nearly crashed to the floor. Catching himself in time before he gave himself a black eye and, possibly, a bloody nose, the Al Bhed coughed. "I… I don't recall ever going out with a man."

Rikku stared at him.

Before promptly striding over and hitting him sharply upside the head.

"You idiot!" she muttered, pinching him on the ear. "The girl that you dated oh… two years ago. Before machina became your life…" She paused, as if suddenly aware how long ago it had been. Shaking her head, Rikku continued. "Remember? That tall girl? Black hair, blue eyes?"

He blinked.

Rikku groaned, using her last resource. "Big breasts?"

Recognition flashed across his face, quickly followed by a surprising amount of repulsion. "Ah. Your _friend_…" The word 'friend' was uttered with complete malice.

Gippal remembered her very vividly, her sudden image blazing across his eyes. Sure, she had been a looker, receiving countless numbers of stares from passerby. But she had also been the first girl to ever dump him. Okay, so he wouldn't have minded if she had called it off the way a _regular_ human being would have done. But no… the supposedly innocent but truthfully damnable woman had to dump him in front of everyone, accusing him of cheating and backstabbing. And if that hadn't been enough, she had stepped over him like trash afterwards, which perhaps explained Gippal's loathing that always followed her memory.

He despised that woman who had flattened both his reputation and pride. No, she wasn't a woman. She was the devil.

Rikku didn't notice his malevolence.

"You men are all the same. So predicable. All you guys ever care about is sex," she snapped angrily as she continued her month-old message in monotone. "Anyway, you know that Devon moved to Bevelle, right?"

"Yeah…" Despite the hatred boiling through his veins, there was a bad feeling in his gut.

"Well, she wanted me to tell you that she misses you, and I told her that you missed her too. I also told her that we were going to Bevelle next weekend, and that you two could catch up there. She was also hoping that you'd be willing to go to a small get together with several of her friends." Rikku paused, staring expectantly at him for a reaction. When he just stared dumbly back, she scoffed. "Thanks for the appreciation," she voiced sarcastically.

Gippal was speechless, emotions of spite and shock winding throughout him. The minutes passed, and Rikku, evidently getting bored, turned back to the room, her eyes no longer containing the sadness that they had previously possessed. The man could merely stare blankly at her back. Damn that dense girl!

Her hair was too fucking blond.

At the same time, his hatred for the devil woman had doubled. Who did she think he was? A thing, a pet? Something that she could use whenever and wherever she wanted? He was Gippal, and he never took orders from anyone, no matter how pretty they were.

…

Fine. But that wasn't his point.

She had tricked him before, and he sure as hell wasn't going to fall for it again.

Sure, a small get-together with friends. She was probably just going to show him off, to prove that she knew and was going out with the leader of the Machine Faction. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure that she had attempted that the first time as well, but realized that he hadn't been famous enough for her liking.

Or something like that.

He wanted to kill something, or he might end up killing himself.

Gippal would rather die than meet with the devil again.

And yet, to his great frustration, he couldn't speak a single word in his defense.

Slowly, Rikku turned back towards him, raising an eyebrow. Her emerald eyes were gleaming patiently. Expectantly.

Gippal stuttered.

----------

The digital clock beeped as it hit the hour, nested on it perch between two heavy volumes. A pair of dull yet placid, dark eyes glanced upwards towards it, tearing their even gaze away from a small stack of papers illuminated by an elegant lamp poised on a birch desk. They stiffened slightly at the time before ressuming their light skimming, a dark hand reaching up to brush away a lock of white hair.

2:00 AM.

For minutes, the only sound was of a pen scratching gently over pallid parchment and the rustle of fabric, rhythmical and horribly sleep alluring. That paper finished, it was transferred to the top of a larger pile on the left-hand corner of the desk, where it lay with other signed works. A moment of silence as the eyes slimmed the new parchment before the scratching began again.

Three sheets of paper followed the first before Baralai sighed, leaning backwards into his welcoming armchair. Shutting his eyes, he relaxed for a moment, easing heavy lids over tired eyes, enjoying the warmth and the faint calls of sleep, before righting himself again and placing his pen back onto the paper.

Holding back a yawn, the miniature pile before him slowly diminished while the other one grew. The pace of his writing and reading gradually grew slower as well. Gazing absentmindedly out of the large window to his right, he sighed. All of Bevelle was asleep.

Everyone, except himself.

He suddenly tensed, brows furrowed as he distinguished the sound of muffled footsteps, the noise turning to a crescendo as it neared him rapidly. That was odd. The only ones awake would be the guards, and they never came to his study. A hand clenched tightly onto a straining pen.

Baralai hesitated when the footsteps suddenly came to a halt. The silence stretched until it blared in his ears. About to get up and check the outer hallway, he nearly fell backwards when his door was slammed open with all the ferocity of a Dual Horn.

Gazing up at his midnight attacker, Baralai had to stifle a laugh when he realized who it was and the state they were in.

Typical.

The man's garments were crinkled and mussed, once his pride and glory, looking like they had been carelessly thrown on. Blond hair was askew, flying every which way, framing a pale face. Indeed, the man looked as if he had been run over.

"Yevon, you look awful," Baralai murmured, dipping his head down as far as it would go to hide his smile behind his extremely high collar. The man stared at him before sliding onto the floor, and Baralai coughed hastily to disguise his chuckle.

Peeking around his stack of papers at the stoic figure sprawled across his carpet, Baralai raised an eyebrow. "Hey… Gippal? Are you okay?"

Gippal grunted in reply, slowly struggling back onto his feet.

Afraid that he would lose his balance and fall headfirst into his mountain of parchment, thus sending them flying to different corners of the room, Baralai quickly got up and transferred his day's work onto a nearby cabinet. He'd finish them tomorrow.

Turning, he paused, eyeing his sudden visitor, who was still rocking precariously on his feet, before fetching a glass of water, which Gippal took and chugged graciously.

"Damn," he gasped after the glass was empty, a hand on Baralai's desk to steady himself while wiping his mouth with the back of his palm. "This place gotten bigger or what? I spent two hours running around trying to find your place to dump off my stuff, and then when I opened your door, an old lady came running and whacked me with her cane for waking her up."

He glared sharply at Baralai. "You just _had_ to move, didn't you?"

Baralai shrugged sheepishly. "I thought you knew." He continued quickly when Gippal continued to glare, deciding that being cocky wouldn't be smart right now. "Well, did you find it?"

"Yes," was the surly reply. "Though you're gonna have to pay for a new lock. I busted the old one."

Baralai sighed. "Gippal," he began in a warning tone, when the Al Bhed's hand suddenly slipped off the desk.

The praetor yelped as Gippal tumbled to the floor again, dragging the older man with him, being the only thing within reach to grab. Blushing and quickly disentangling himself from the other's limbs, Baralai scooted back up into a sitting position, Gippal cursing and rubbing his head on the floor.

"So…" Baralai voiced a few seconds later, crossing his legs. "What brings you here on such a short notice?"

Gippal slowly sat up, supporting himself with his arms, a bruise forming on his forehead where he had smacked it against the desk. "Your reunion thing."

"You're a week early."

Silence. "Yeah… well, I thought I'd come earlier…"

Baralai blinked, suddenly curious. For Gippal to abandon his Machine Faction just to come to Bevelle… He was missing part of the story. "And why?" he asked in his most innocent voice.

Gippal shifted uncomfortably. "There's no reason. I just wanted to visit a friend. Anything wrong with that?"

When Baralai raised an eyebrow at him, the Al Bhed sighed in defeat. Damn him. He was never able to hide anything from the praetor. Besides, he was bound to ask again sooner or later. Yet springing such a request on a friend he hadn't seen for ages seemed almost cruel.

Opening his mouth, he was about to protest again, but another look at Baralai easily stopped all other attempts. What the hell. "Fine," the Al Bhed muttered, finding sudden interest in the carpet. "I… need some help. You remember Devon, right?"

Unlike Gippal, Baralai recognized the name without the help of any physical descriptions, the girl having been almost neighboring him in his old apartment. How could he forget, when she had always bothered him to no end? He had almost gagged when he realized she had moved to Bevelle. At the same time, his face fell, but Gippal was too intent with glaring at the ground to notice. The praetor sighed inwardly. A favor. Of course.

He should have known anyway.

Even so, he couldn't help but feel used.

"Well…" the blond continued, brushing the folds out of his pants. "Rikku, being ever so brilliant (— at this point, Gippal was making rather violent gestures with his hands —), agreed to her that the two of us should go out on a date again. As if she hadn't already ruined my life enough." A shiver.

He looked up slightly warily, locking gazes with the older man. "God, I despise that woman."

Baralai smiled, raising an eyebrow before blinking, sudden suspicion lighting his face. Dark eyes narrowed.

"Hold up…" he said slowly, a smile creeping across his face as he stared knowingly at Gippal. "Don't tell me you flew over here right after you and Rikku had this conversation?"

Gippal's glare and curse were drowning out by Baralai's laughter, a faint blush staining tanned cheeks.

Yes, Gippal was blushing.

Recomposing himself, Baralai coughed lightly, eyes still continuing their silent spasm of laughter. "Poor little boy," he teased. "Has someone hurt his feelings?"

Gippal glared sharply at him again, his face red but no longer from embarrassment.

"Keep talking, why don't you," he growled, cracking his knuckles, and Baralai held his hands up in front of himself, still laughing but at the same time trying to keep a serious face. "I was kidding, kidding. The little boy doesn't need to punch his inconsiderate bully if he's afraid."

Gippal's face turned redder.

He had to admit, being in Gippal's company made everything seem so much… livelier. It made him miss the times they had spent together in the Crimson Squad, along with Nooj and Paine, where the four of them had lived and depended on each other. It could have even been called his small family, something he was sure that the others had also felt.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he shifted the conversation back to Gippal's original problem. "So? I don't see where my help comes in."

At this, Gippal took to staring at the ground again, the flush slowly disappearing from his face. Fidgeting and picking at his fingernails, he cleared his throat. "Yeah, well… I tried to get out of it, but Rikku wouldn't listen. You know how she is. I'm supposed to meet Devon this Sunday, and nothing I do can change it."

Gippal lapsed into silence again, and Baralai almost laughed. Stalling. As usual.

Tempted to prod Gippal with a stick or any other pointy object in his reach, just to see if he would react, the Al Bhed cleared his throat again, disturbingly loud, and swallowed, scratching his nose. Baralai choked. Real attractive there. And Gippal was supposedly a ladies man?

Uh huh. Okay.

The Al Bhed began to speak again and Baralai re-diverted his attention.

"I need to ask a really, really big favor. Can you help me?" It was barely audible.

"Depends on the favor," Baralai replied sweetly.

Almost sighing out of irritation and boredom as Gippal returned to scrutinizing his hands, Baralai's eyes started to drift out the window again. The Al Bhed was demonstrating an excellent example of the phrase "beating around the bush". The silence continued to stretch until he could take it no longer. "Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to threaten it out of you?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Gippal started, almost as if he had forgotten that he wasn't the only one in the room. Running a hand through his hair, he grinned sheepishly. "Okay, I know that this is gonna seem really fucked up and stupid, but it'll be doing me a huge favor."

"Yes, you've already informed me about that. Two times actually."

"Smart ass. And know that if I had thought thoroughly over it without blurting the first thing that had came to mind that I thought would convince her to cancel my date, I would have picked a different excuse."

"Alright."

"And know that I don't want any awkwardness between us after I tell you the favor I need you to do."

"Sure."

"And know that if I had known that she wouldn't have been convinced with me saying it, I wouldn't have said it in the first place and would therefore not be asking for a favor."

"Gippal!"

"Okay!"

Straightening up, he looked boldly at Baralai and cleared his throat once more.

"I told Rikku I was gay."

Silence.

----------

(1) How's it coming along?  
(2) Woman  
(3) Yes, Al Bhed is actually a code, not a language. Thought I should add it to clear matters up… heh…  
(4) Hairy bastard


	2. Phase One

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X-2, or any Final Fantasy game whatsoever. Sadly, SquareEnix has the credit and the money while I have nothing but dirty socks.

Warning: Yaoi, possible yuri, sexual themes and horrible humor. You have been warned…

A/N: Well, that was a while. Surprisingly, it was a lot sooner than I expected though, being the slacker that I am. Meh. Anyhoo, thanks loads for those who dropped a review! I got all conceited for a while and began strutting around. Heh. Yeah, definitely a habit I should change in the near future.

Back to the story. About the notes at the bottom, sorry, but I just couldn't force myself to write in random author's notes and Al Bhed definitions in the middle of the chapter. On a happier thought, there won't be much Al Bhed anymore, and the notes will just be over random parts that I'll have to excuse my stupidness for or just because I feel like writing something else. And if you didn't understand a single word in that paragraph, you most likely aren't the only one. Sigh.

So yeah. Personally, I haven't yet decided whether or not this will be Gippal x Baralai or Baralai x Gippal. I know that initially, this was supposed to be a Gippalai, but it just seems so much easier the other way around… Ah well. I'll switch off. Who says being gay limits masculinity?

Okay, now is when I shut up and ignore the cricket chirps. The second installment of The Art of Deception follows…

**The Art of Deception**  
Natsue Arishima 

**Phase One: Obtaining a Ready Accomplice**

"I told Rikku I was gay."

The silence was so thick and heavy that he could have cut through it with a knife. There was a definite flush on his face, whether from the fact that he had been holding his breath for the past minute or from embarrassment, he didn't know. All he was capable of doing was to watch him, latch onto his eyes, suddenly afraid that the other would turn away.

He swallowed, licking dry lips as Baralai continued to stare, surprise slipping onto every inch of his face. Dark eyes were unreadable, mouth partially open in shock. Shock, disgust, confusion…

Rejection. That was his first thought.

The older man fidgeted slightly, winding his hands together in his lap. Biting his lip, he frowned. "Please tell me you shut up after that?" he asked faintly, voice surprisingly loud in the spacious room. When Gippal blinked, his mouth quirked upwards in its usual smile.

It was fake.

The Al Bhed strained a grin back, quickly hiding disappointment as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah, well… You know how it goes. Start a lie and get carried away, the usual." The blond laughed faintly, mentally wincing as Baralai continued to gaze intently at him, smile unwavering yet devoid of true emotions.

_This is so wrong._

Sighing, Gippal looked down, eyes fixed on shadows contained within the floor. "I told Rikku that I was going to ask you out. Naturally, her response was along the lines of me getting rid of Devon myself, since she set me up and was for some strange reason not entitled to un… set me up… Yeah, considering that she said something along the lines of, 'Funny. And I had just asked Paine out a few weeks ago', I don't think she really believed me."

He could feel the blank stare boring into his head until Baralai turned away seconds later. The familiar lock of hair slipped out again, silver tresses obscuring the majority of the praetor's face, who was finding sudden interest in the intricately woven carpet. The Al Bhed felt horribly stupid, despair quickly following the absence of Baralai's gaze. What had he been thinking? That the founder of New Yevon would just willingly agree to his underlying question? Maybe before, when they had been as close as friends could get, but they had been separated for what, months? He should have been expecting this.

And besides, Gippal highly doubted that even then, Baralai would have agreed willingly to pose as his boyfriend, be it real or a mere prank.

Baralai would never agree to something so extreme.

He could just take it back now, pretend that he had been kidding and confess it as a joke. A simple joke. He could imagine Baralai gazing at him before laughing it off, like they usually did. That was, of course, if he hadn't already tossed their friendship aside with his stupid favor.

Dammit! Why couldn't he have thought about the consequences of his actions before… well, acting upon them? If he had somehow changed everything, everything being his close friendship with Baralai… He wouldn't be able to stand it. _Gippal, you dumb bastard…_

Slowly, he peered upwards, through a mass of golden hair. The other was uncomfortable, he could tell.

"Hey," he started softly. "It was a joke, 'Lai. You know I would never —"

The praetor turned back to him again, easily reading past his false words. Gippal cursed inwardly at himself. Lying to Baralai was a lost cause. It was futile.

The silence was unbearable.

-

A pair of dark eyes gazed absentmindedly out of the open window, soft rays of gold bathing the walls. They were deep in thought, almost glazed, slender brows furrowed against tanned skin. A strand of silver was brushed back by a palm, tucked wordlessly behind an ear, only to follow up by escaping its prison and being sent back again.

Baralai continued the slow cycle for several minutes, eyes never leaving their focus. Past the glass, Bevelle was partially awake and moving, miniscule people already dotting its streets despite the early hour. In the east, the sun was just up, stretching its reach across the houses and stores.

So silent, peaceful.

Sighing, Baralai tore himself from his wondrous bliss, turning himself back to the problematic matter at hand that he had left unattended to last night. He glared down at his desk, almost hoping it would burst into flames yet also grateful that it remained solid. He was so… confused? Lost? To accept would most likely change everything, yet to decline would almost seem cruel… Tapping his fingers on the polished wood, he frowned, busying his other hand with his pen.

Accept or decline…

Shutting his eyes, he swallowed before forcibly shifting the parchment he had been occupied with for the past ten minutes onto the rejected pile on the floor, debating silently with himself. He couldn't bring himself to say no, but in this case, there was no other choice. Not only would it destroy his reputation as the praetor, it could also lower Bevelle's respect in the future.

There was a final click of the pen before he placed it gently back onto the desk.

He would have to decline.

Baralai just couldn't bring himself to give the Kinderguardians access to monkeys for pets. (1)

He knew Pacce had good intentions, and he had to admit, not only had the Kinderguardians been surprisingly helpful in the past year, Pacce and his brothers had also become part of Baralai's everyday life. His new family. Yet there was only so much friendship could give before the line was crossed. The praetor knew the small party would most likely ambush him on his way out for punishment, but mixing excitable boys with gil-stealing monkeys was just irrational. Besides, half of the signatures given on the ballot weren't even from Bevelle residences.

He rubbed his temples, grateful that there were only three sheets left.

But really, back onto the big problem. With Gippal and his obscene favor.

The very thought spurred all ideas out of his mind. Just like last night, Baralai found that he didn't know what to do. Gippal was his closest friend, and had came to him first because he had hoped that Baralai would help him. Said praetor wanted to help, really, but… it would just seem so awkward. It didn't help that Baralai felt he didn't really understand the Al Bhed anymore. The two of them had been apart for so long, with duties of work and all…

He hated to say it, but they were drifting away from each other, just like how Nooj and Paine had unconsciously yet successfully distanced themselves. He had tried to prevent it by staying with Gippal over the summer, but by leaving again, things had shifted back to their original places.

Baralai was sure that the two of them could settle back into their close roles of friends again, but that took time. He had partially hoped that that had been the man's exact intentions, with coming a week earlier and all, but his hopes had been flattened when he realized that a favor was the only reason of the Al Bhed's unexpected arrival. He shouldn't have been surprised, considering the changes that the months had spurred, but he had been. No, surprised was an understatement. He had felt shocked, confused, rueful, and most of all, used.

Yes, used. He had expected more of a sort of welcome, and had received a damnable favor over a date instead. He was sure that Gippal hadn't meant any harm, but was that all Baralai was to him? A willing accomplice? One of those sickly obsessed fans who would eagerly die to help him? Yevon, he wasn't a dog.

He should have talked to Gippal about it, but with a bleak three hours of sleep and a heavy cloud of thoughts, the only thing that had mattered to him two hours ago was to avoid his guest as much as possible. The fact that the man had been sleeping like a log with no indications of waking up at any time in the near future whatsoever contributed greatly to his goal. Even so, he supposed that running out of his house at six in the morning had been too drastic of an action.

He denied that fact that he had actually been fleeing from his bed with half his clothes on. Okay, so maybe he had overreacted a little…

Baralai bit his lip, perching his arms on his desk. Folding them slowly, he leaned forward, cushioning his head within the folds of fabric. The man gazed blankly at the parchment below him, so close that the writing was no longer legible, black blotches dancing across the white surface. Was he being too self-centered?

He could just agree. It was only for a week, after all. It might not even be that bad. All he had to do was to stay around Gippal and act like a girl (A.K.A. a flamboyant queer). Once Devon got the hint, which could possibly take a while considering her limited brainpower and refusal to accept the fact that her boyfriend was gay, they could just drop the whole ordeal and be friends again.

Right?

Easier said than done.

Baralai groaned, shutting his eyes. He didn't know what to do.

He yelped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Jerking upwards and spinning around, his elbow slipped off the wooden surface and he successfully cracked his head against the curve of his lamp. Said lamp was sent tumbling towards the floor. Stars flickering wildly before him, he lifted his hand, shrugging it out of its sleeve and pointing his index forward, ignoring the strange fluttering sensation that always followed the abuse of his funny bone. The lamp froze inches away from the carpet before it was levitated back onto the table.

A familiar voice ushered a rapid apology to his right as he rubbed his head slowly, pulling away his hand to see small specks of crimson on his fingers. Looking up, he met a pair of dark, worried eyes.

Isaaru.

Automatically, relief spread quickly throughout his body at the sight of his close friend, and all worries of Gippal fled his mind. Baralai smiled, wiping away the blood as he stood up, clothes smoothing from previous wrinkles almost instantly. "It's okay. Just caught me off guard is all."

The previous summoner let off a faint smile, though his face still remained concerned, smooth mahogany hair slipping across his steady gaze. "I didn't mean to startle you, but you didn't object when I knocked. I thought you knew I was here." Brows furrowing, the man placed a hand under Baralai's chin and forced his gaze upwards. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Baralai nearly jumped at the contact, shifting at the intensity of Isaaru's gaze, who quickly pulled away and dropped his arm. Smiling faintly and brushing the action aside, Baralai cautiously shook his head. The two had become close friends over the course of the year, and the praetor felt no guilt in informing the summoner of Gippal's favor. Even so, he was worried, not out of fear that the previous Zanarkand guardian would spread rumors from his words, but of his response.

Why? The two of them had shared a small scuffle of a sort several months ago.

As he had suspected, the summoner stiffened at Gippal's name, knowing perfectly well what the oblivious Al Bhed meant to the other, though the man quickly hid his frown when Baralai turned to face him again. Swallowing, he hesitated before smiling. "Are you going to help him, then?"

The praetor sank back into his chair, avoiding eye contact with his friend. "That's the problem," he said quietly, gazing listlessly at the ground. "I don't know."

Silence stretched as the summoner blinked before laughing, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. His deep laughter continued for a while, somehow easing away the tense atmosphere. Staring past brown locks to the other's face, he cocked his head to a side. "Hey. Believe me, I know what you're going through. It's natural to feel used, but think about what he's experiencing. I'd freak if an ex were stalking me. Help him for now. It's only for a little while. Who knows, maybe things will change later on."

Baralai froze, hand stilling its previous tapping.

Isaaru turned and casually flicked imaginary lint off of his robes, suppressing a small cough. "He's trusting you with this. As a friend."

As silence greeted his words, the summoner sighed and gazed around the room listlessly for several moments. His eyes caught sight of a rolled up sheet of parchment tied neatly with a single, red ribbon, drifted towards Baralai, raised an eyebrow, and picked up the scroll, tucking it gently within his robes before turning to head towards the door.

Reaching out for the handle, he paused. "You'll have to forgive me though, if I accidentally bash his head in." Turning slightly, he winked at Baralai, tapping an ear. "If you need any help, I'm always here to listen. Oh, and Pacce wants to know your reply to his… unique request. If you ask me, it's the dumbest proposition I've ever heard of."

The previous summoner was halfway out the door before he heard Baralai laugh softly behind him. "Thanks, Isaaru," the man whispered quietly, barely audible yet just enough for the summoner to hear. Isaaru slowed his steps for a second before continuing his pace.

The room was strangely silent after he left.

Turning his armchair so that it faced the window again, Baralai sighed, easing his eyes shut. Staring at the reddish hue behind his eyelids, the praetor smiled faintly. Isaaru was right. It wasn't about his feelings of shock and being used this time. It was for Gippal, just for a week… It wouldn't be that bad.

He wouldn't let his emotions get the better of him, especially not when Gippal needed his help.

Besides, it was bound to hurt. It was an automatic reaction when a person falls in love with their best friend.

-

Gippal prided himself in never once failing his high reputation as a ladies man. Because of this, he had in no way ever experienced the anguish of being cheated on, locked out, punched, bitch slapped, kicked between the legs, and all the other horrors that came with disappointing the ladies.

Therefore, when he woke up to find himself in the unlikeliest of places, he had never felt more insulted in his life.

Yes. Of all possible things, he had sunk to the very lowest.

Oh, the horror, the shame. Because when Gippal woke up, he realized the room he was in was completely alien to him, which meant only one thing could have happened last night, or so his gradually waking brain automatically confirmed. That part of the picture he didn't mind, oh no. It was the fact of _where_ he was that completely blew him over.

For Gippal wasn't in a bed, or even on the floor of the bedroom. No. Gippal woke up on… The Couch.

-

Cursing from his spot on the cold, unmerciful floor, Gippal struggled back onto his feet, rubbing the bruise forming on his hip that had been urged into life by his previous tumble from the couch. He muttered under his breath, smoothing out the endless crinkles in his clothes and running a hand through wild hair as he glared down at his previous residence.

Realizing that the couch wouldn't reply to his taunts, no matter how many curses and threats he should care to yell, he turned to divert his ire on another innocent object. Anger quickly cooled when he noticed his surroundings.

The room was spacious, the walls cluttered with an endless supply of boxes and empty shelves. He was standing near a shutter-deprived patio door, the afternoon sun lighting the space a bold yellow. There was a coffee table in the middle of the room, surrounded by the damnable couch, a matching love seat, and armchair, still covered in plastic. A strange aroma hit him; it was sweet, though not to the unbearable extent, like the smell of scented candles.

This was Baralai's place.

Baralai. Gippal swallowed, hit with a wave of guilt and regret. Where was he?

Stretching and wrinkling his nose at the pathetic state of his clothes (it was the same outfit he had worn yesterday), Gippal strode across the room, passing through the bare hallway and towards the pair of double doors at its end. Running his hand over smooth oak (realizing with some guilt that the lock was no longer capable of doing its task), he pulled them open, blinking as he found himself outside and facing a street of other houses and rows of pines. Behind them was the temple, almost like a fairytale come to life. He whistled, the sight being much more impressive than it had been last night.

The praetor sure knew how to spend his money.

Several girls passed across the street; one look at him sent them into shock, promptly followed by a fit of giggles. Smirking slightly, he gave them a small nod of the head, and they shrieked before running off.

Nice location, too.

Stepping back inside, Gippal looked around. The door to his right lead towards a small study, littered with possibly more boxes than the living room had possessed, yet was surprisingly organized and neat. The Al Bhed raised an eyebrow. Trust Baralai to finish furnishing a study before anything else.

A flight of stairs led to the second floor. Hesitating slightly, Gippal bit his lip before heading up the carpeted stairs. Pausing at the top, he called softly, "Baralai?" When no one answered him, he proceeded to explore the new vicinity, jaw dropping at each of the impossibly large rooms.

Damn…

Unconsciously comparing the impressive state of Baralai's new house to his pathetic room in Djose, Gippal crept back down the stairs again, feeling small and horribly insignificant. Trust Baralai to also squish his remaining ego.

Back in the living room, he found his way to the dining room, the kitchen, and what he assumed was the entertainment room, complete with games and one of those new… what was it? Television sets? Either way, the thing was awesome, ten times better than those CommSphere things. There had also been a strange box titled, "PS2", but Gippal hadn't spent much time poking at it, having been too caught up with flipping through television channels. What fun could a box be anyway? (2)

Hollering Baralai's name a few more times, Gippal retired to the kitchen, afraid he would get lost if he kept on wandering around. He was disappointed, having hoped that he could have apologized to the other first thing. The praetor couldn't possibly be at Bevelle. It was a frickin' Sunday!

That man really needed to go out more.

Noticing his bag in the corner of the room, he headed towards it and sifted through its contents for a decent outfit. Seconds passed as he continued to search, silently debating over a shower. Approving himself, he grabbed a towel, took a deep breath, and plunged back into the labyrinth, peeling his eyes for a bathroom.

He found his prize upstairs in what he assumed was the master's bedroom; in other words, Baralai's room.

Peeking cautiously around the door and half expecting the praetor himself to come barging out with his javelin, hair askew and eyes red, the Al Bhed almost sighed in relief in finding the room empty. He later realized just how stupid his envisionment of Baralai had been, but being Gippal, merely shoved the thought aside and continued with his shower ritual.

Cursing at the fact that there was only one bathtub included bathroom in such a horribly large house (he had actually stumbled across several tubs in his close-to-frenzied search, but none had proved worthy of bearing him), he strode across the large room and examined the bathroom. Nice sinks, decent toilet… and holy shit, the man had a frickin' Jacuzzi! (3)

Sweet…

Feeling slightly guilty that: one, he was currently sneaking into Baralai's room; two, he was currently sneaking into Baralai's room when he already should have been apologizing to said person; and three, he was drooling all over Baralai's nicely polished floor, Gippal peered around for a minute more before stepping inside the bathroom and closing the door.

He amused himself with the different soaps and bottles near the tub, most of them new and unopened. Also trust Baralai to buy more than he actually needed and never was going to use. No, Gippal couldn't really picture the praetor piling on loads of cherry and daisy scented shampoo.

After the different scents were sorted through (the Al Bhed decided he'd try them all), Gippal turned to the bathroom itself, opening the many small doors under the sink and rummaging through the miniature closet. In general, the room was empty, save for several crumpled parchments and old blueprints.

That was, until the Al Bhed accidentally knocked over a small, plastic box, spewing paper all across the floor. Groaning and muttering, he irritably picked them up again, dumping them back in the box in way he hoped they had been originally. Halfway through, he suddenly realized that the papers were all previous love letters written to the praetor, sent by girls and (strangely, though he wasn't surprised) boys alike. And judging by the smell, they were well on the way of becoming fertilizer.

Grinning from ear to ear, the Al Bhed indulged himself within their smelly depths, and by the end of the last letter, got up, walked out the bathroom door, and plowed through the rest of Baralai's room.

The gods later punished his nosiness by burning him relentlessly in the tub.

A shower and an hour later, along with several burns and newly invented curses, Gippal found himself back downstairs in pants and a sleeveless black shirt, obviously having not learned his lesson and rummaging through the expanse of the kitchen cabinets, boredom overruling his previous activity of mentally apologizing to Baralai a hundred times over. Yes, he was worried about the praetor, and yes, he was worried what the praetor would do once he found the state his room was in (the sixtieth declaration of love had surpassed the previous hilarity level and sent the Al Bhed running out of the room clutching his mouth), but Gippal would have physically snapped if he had stressed over the matter for another second. Having already finished half a carton of ice cream, he was pondering on whether or not to make pasta or bake a cake (hey, who said he couldn't be fond of cooking?) when a certain household appliance caught his eye.

Blender.

Smirking and glancing around, just to make sure there was no one watching him (a paranoid reaction he had received from fighting in the Crimson Squad — either that or from playing way to much "spit in granny's hedges" when he was a kid), the Al Bhed rubbed his hands together.

Excellent.

Gippal learned the hard way that there was only so much a blender could take.

-

"Hey!"

Baralai started, rudely shaken from his thoughts. Spinning around, he blinked at the corridor that led the gates of the temple to the city doors. Besides the guards, who were having an animated conversation near the opposite ends of their posts (Baralai made a mental reminder to hire new ones), there was no one in sight. Frowning slightly, he continued his way out of the temple's general vicinity, still musing over the events of yesterday and Isaaru's previous visit.

Wondering how he was going to bring up last night's topic to the Al Bhed, he jumped again when the same voice hollered down at him. It was surprisingly familiar… Sighing, he turned again, absentmindedly searching the empty hall while trying to place the voice on a head. A sigh reverberated across the quiet area.

"Look _up_, smart one."

Blinking, Baralai cast his gaze onto the overhanging balcony, raising an eyebrow at the young boy standing with his hands on his hips, most likely believing the pose rather impressive. Before he could comment, the boy had detached himself from his previous post, a blur of green and yellow, before colliding with the ground (there was an odd, squelching noise), gave off a small grunt, and fell over onto his side. The praetor raised another eyebrow, finding himself staring at a stunned Pacce sprawled across the cement floor.

"The… s-shock…" the boy squeaked past clenched teeth, eyes convulsing and face an unhealthy shade of green as he hugged his legs, tears springing into his swirling eyes. "Ow…"

"You know," Baralai murmured, cocking his head to one side as he leaned down towards the twitching boy. "Generally, you don't jump down from a ten-foot high wall unless you absolutely have to. Or if you were taller." The praetor smiled. "And if you were trying to impress me, it didn't work."

Black eyes glared up at him. "Shut up or I'll send the Kinderguardians after you!" Pacce snarled as he pushed himself back onto his feet only to fall onto his bottom, his harsh voice raised into a whine. Once again, Baralai found himself blessing his heavenly high collar as he hid his smile behind it, brushing stubborn strands out of his eyes. "Yes, dear elder," he replied lightly, tipping his head forward. Pacce flushed, unruly hair sticking up in all directions, having grown longer and wilder over the summer. Stuttering slightly, he let off a little "humph" before shoving his nose up into the air and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I heard about you and that funky Al Bhed guy," he declared loudly in his altered superior voice, the effect unknowingly making him more snotty than powerful. Perhaps that was the reason why Pacce had never been popular with the girls.

"Oh?" Baralai questioned, raising an eyebrow, slightly surprised. How did people already know that the leader of the Machine Faction was in Bevelle? Even Gippal would be smart enough to stay inside; he popularity with the species' gentler sex had mob potential. His breath hitched and he hid it with a faint cough. "And what about me and the funky Al Bhed guy?"

"Stuff," the boy said mischievously, obviously believing to have hit a nerve and therefore was now more superior to the praetor. Ah, bliss minority. Baralai decided to let him bask for a while before shattering his glory — he'd save the monkey thing for later.

"And what kind of stuff?" he prompted.

At this, Pacce broke into a fit of giggles. Really, the boy would have been sort of cute had he not been so wound up with himself. Hiccuping and straightening as much as he could, considering his bruised legs and sore, er… backside, he smirked up at the praetor. "Like… you two are going out!" He snorted, spit flying out every which way in an attempt to stop the flow of laughter.

Feeling wetter then he had been all week, Baralai managed a smile and quickly took back his previous compliment of the boy's cute level, mentally choking. "Really?" he asked, almost bitterly, "and who informed you of this?" Strange, really, publicity. News and rumors traveled at the speed of light in Bevelle, despite their strangeness and unlikeness, yet people seemed to believe and accept them without argument. If politics could be this easy, he'd eat his head.

For some odd reason, he suddenly pictured Gippal's expression if the man were to have been present during this strange conversation. After the image of the Al Bhed strangling the daylights out of the Kinderguardian flashed across his mind, Baralai silently agreed to himself that it was probably for the best that Gippal was currently away. Yes. Definitely for the better, he mused, as the sight of the man jumping on the boy's dead body promptly followed the first image.

"No one told me. I'm not _that_ stupid!" the boy replied with an air of arrogance, and Baralai focused back onto the conversation, quirking a small smile. "Isaaru came back all sad and mopey, news was out that Gippal was here, I put one and one together, and… Boom!" He clapped his hands together, a bit too hard for his bones to handle, for he yelped and shoved his fists in his mouth. "Bingo!" he managed to snap past large knuckles.

Baralai raised an eyebrow. So it hadn't been flying gossip. He breathed a sigh of relief, though the sudden thought struck him that if he were to refuse Gippal's offer, rumors would do the trick anyway. He almost laughed. It was just like in Djose, except that time his reputation hadn't been on the line. People were more forgiving and open-minded there anyway.

Shaking his head slightly (he had been drifting off a lot recently), he smiled, turning back to Pacce and his smug grin. "This would be so much more convincing if I were looking up at you instead of down."

The boy flushed again, face swelling like a crimson balloon.

"I know I'm short, alright?" he wailed, jumping up to his feet and waving his fist. "At least I'm not running around kissing a boy!"

The praetor froze.

Oblivious to the reaction his randomly guessed assumption had caused (including the entire of the whole going out ordeal), Pacce spun around on his heel and broke into a demented skip, hopping, running, and cursing at the same time. Baralai watched his retreating back, surprise and bewilderment still radiating through him.

Kissing…?

Okay, so he hadn't thought about that.

He took a breath, stomach lurching into his throat. Slowly, he calmed himself, rubbing his eyes until white blotches sprung up before them. Kissing Gippal. He couldn't deny that the idea was appealing, yet not once had the thought entered his mind, especially not under these circumstances. It wouldn't be… right. Not with Gippal just pretending in order to get rid of a date. Yevon, the Al Bhed might have dropped the whole boyfriend ordeal already, considering Baralai's strange reaction to it.

It wasn't like the praetor had never attempted to gain the other's attention by himself. "Attempted" was too small a word for it. He had _strived_ for it, ever since he had realized how gentle and affectionate the Al Bhed could be. During the last half of their Crimson Squad days, Baralai had either been casually sticking around Gippal whenever he could, or staying with Paine and talking about said man, being too embarrassed to go to Nooj. Paine understood, she always did, and was also always there to comfort him. Even afterwards, he was nearly constantly thinking about the Al Bhed, though it had cooled down a bit as months passed.

Last year, though, when he met up with Gippal and Nooj again, Baralai found himself obsessed once more, though Paine wasn't there to consult with this time. Of course, he had never actually told Gippal, considering the most understandable reply: rejection.

Gippal wasn't gay.

He had finally given up after the summer spent at Djose, where Gippal continued to remain horribly oblivious to his actions. Hence his start of accepting date offers in Bevelle. The one man he had ever dated (in secrecy of course) he had actually considered to be "the one". He had been perfect, amazing in almost every way… but it hadn't been what Baralai had wanted. What he wanted was out of his reach.

He had felt slightly guilty by breaking up with the other almost immediately; the man had been obviously heartbroken, but the praetor had realized that it was most likely for the best. Leading people on would have just been cruel. Besides, he had been already feeling the side effects of his stress on the secrecy level.

But now, if he was going to help Gippal… It was going to have to be public. He couldn't just hide it away like before. People had to believe it in order for Devon to believe it.

Baralai could have cared less if he was gay.

Bisexual, actually.

No, it was the public part he feared most.

Sighing, Baralai picked up his steady pace again, heading out the temple's main gates. Before him, the shops and huts spanned out, men and women shopping and talking before them. He received several waves and calls, the usual routine. Several children ran up to him, expectant of their daily treat, and he fished them out of his pockets, laughing as they skipped off with chocolate-covered faces.

He caught several snips of conversation, all seeming to revolve around aeons, the morning coffee, the spider in the pantry, and the arrival of Machine Faction's head. So Pacce had been partially right. A flock of blond girls walked past him, several blushing and waving shyly towards him while others were whispering rapidly to each other. He caught Gippal's name in their words too.

Shaking his head and suppressing a smile at the numerous fans the Al Bhed seemed to have throughout the entire of Spira, though just the tiniest bit irked, a voice hollered off somewhere to his right, loud, blaring, and highly familiar. Shifting his head slightly, Baralai quirked an eyebrow before smiling at the familiar face.

Fighting against a current of irritated shoppers, the man waved a tanned hand towards the praetor, shoving forward fiercely with his broad shoulders. He was blowing strands of dark hair as he went out of his eyes, crossing them when the pressure was too much to handle on his ribs, and for a moment was lost in the sea of heads. Chuckling slightly, Baralai sighed and began to push towards the cursing man, now looking highly abused and slowly drowning within the mass of people.

Typical of Maroda, really.

Ten minutes later found the two of them in the cool and blissfully empty atmosphere of a nearby food shop, the darker-haired man wheezing and twitching on the floor. Slightly amused, the praetor ushered to the young girl behind the counter, who jerked up and quickly shut her magazine (Baralai caught an image of a nude model seconds before she slammed it shut), shoving it behind her back with a dull blush riding her cheeks.

"Y-yes?" she questioned timidly, brushing an unruly strand of brown hair out of violet eyes. They widened when she slowly realized that she was standing across from the praetor.

"Could I have some water? My friend's slow to recover from suffocation."

Obviously not having taken in a single word, the girl continued to gape as if she had never seen a man before in her life, bottom jar hanging inches from the floor. Her violet eyes were slightly glazed over, dead to the world. Baralai watched quietly, bemused when a small string of drool began at the corner of her mouth and slipped down her chin.

Really. People these days.

Maroda gave off a deranged, dying cough behind them.

Jumping up, the girl hastily snapped back to life, wiping away the trickle of spit a bit too earnestly from her mouth; she punched herself in the face in the process. Now sporting an ugly bruise, she ran a hand through her hand, dropped the magazine behind her back, dived to the floor for it, cracked her knee, lunged up and hit her head, dropped the magazine once more, and proceeded to continue the rather painful cycle. Baralai watched her go for several minutes before deciding the abuse was enough for one day.

"Umm… water? Please?" He coughed faintly, biting back a small smile.

On her hands and knees, the girl froze before scampering though the doors behind her. The praetor blinked, mouth partially open, before concluding that it was a bit too late to inform the other of the sink behind the counter. Sighing slightly, he picked absentmindedly at his nails and ignored the splashing noises in the background. He never knew he could traumatize a person this much. Honestly, Yuna couldn't even cause such a stirrup, and being Spira's most popular celebrity, that was saying something.

Minutes later, the girl returned, rather wet and with a sheepish smile on her face. "Here," she muttered to the floor. "On the house." She roughly shoved a battered potion bottle into Baralai's hands, who accepted it, rather surprised.

He decided that she had either been incapable of carrying a glass of water without spilling its contents or was just posing in the role of a good citizen. Considering Spira's current personalities of its people, he stuck with the former.

Smiling faintly, he nodded to her in thanks before pacing back towards Maroda, who grabbed the bottle and chugged half of it in one mouthful.

"Um…"

Baralai blinked, turning back towards the rather bashful girl, who was still studying her feet. "Is it true…? That Gippal's here?" She peeked up shyly at him, and crossed her eyes in annoyance at a strand of hair that refused to leave its spot in the middle of her forehead.

The white-haired man blinked, about to reply, when the girl hurriedly continued, getting bolder by the second. "He's with you, right? Is it true that he's gonna go out again with Devon?" She narrowed her eyes. "I never liked that slut. Strutting around like she owned the place."

"Er…"

Her voice was higher now, louder and dauntless. "Hey! You think I could meet him? I've always wanted to… he's so handsome, don'cha think?"

"I don't —" Baralai frowned when she cut him off again, the faintest edge of anger beginning to prick at him. This was getting a little out of hand… Controlling his faint fury, he attempted to cut her string of thought several times, though failed as she continued to plow onwards.

"Gods, that slut doesn't deserve even a fraction of him. If you ask me, she's better off with a piece of slime. Maybe you could introduce us! That'd be so cool!"

Okay, definitely bordering the line. The praetor frowned, lips set in a straight line. His previous liking for the girl, despite her clumsiness and magazine taste, had faded.

"I don't think he's gonna take Devon back. I mean, look at what she did to him! Ooh! I wanna ask him out, just to spite her and her stupid cronies. Hey, maybe you could —"

That was it.

"Gippal's not going out with any girl right now, not with her and not with you." Faint satisfaction grew at her sudden silence, the smile wrenched completely off her face. "I'm sorry, but he's not really interested right now."

The girl bit her lip, wringing her hands together. "But —" He didn't get it. Could the girl not take a hint to bug off?

"He's taken at the moment. Maybe in a month or so." Even that didn't shut her up.

"No, he can't be taken."

"Sorry, but he is."

"But who —?"

Turning, the praetor eyed her evenly, irritated to no end, before stating flatly, "Me."

That seemed to do it.

Behind him, Maroda burst into another spasm of coughs.

-

Underneath a pile of noodle boxes, empty containers, milk cartons, pasta sauce, cake mix, apple peels, and a still snorting blender, a blond head popped up. Actually, to the normal eye it would have seemed like a white head, dotted with an array of red and orange streaks, but lets not get into that…

Anyway, a blond head popped up, cerulean stare darting towards the large doors at the end of the hallway. Gippal swallowed, pricking his ears. He had just heard… yep, there it was again. Footsteps. Heading towards the door. Towards Baralai's house. Towards the kitchen that was now a hellhole, not to mention the most likely disordered room upstairs.

"Shit."

Shooting up like a bullet, his escape out the patio door might have been probable if he hadn't tripped over the remains of the poor blender, which gave off a final, sputtering wail before dying completely. Cursing as he rammed head on into the wall, Gippal staggered back, rapidly blinking stars out of his eyes as he hid his dead comrade beneath a mountain of cardboard boxes.

Footsteps.

His sudden collision had proved to have one good factor. Besides the throbbing bump on his skull, he had unhinged most of the flour in his hair, and it floated down before him in little puffs of white snow — wait. Something about that wasn't right. Oooh… migraine. He had definitely lost one too many brain cells.

Closer.

Now panicking, the Al Bhed bit his lip, gazing at the deranged mess in front of him before frantically grabbing items and shoving them into the trashcan, arms flailing like windmills. As he tossed a battered spoon over his shoulder, Gippal turned once more to the doors. Through the paneled glass, he could distinctly make out the shapes of two heads.

He uttered a strangled sort of squeak, diving and shoving his afternoon's remains in the kitchen corner, where it wouldn't be visible from the entrance and the hallway. That done, he ran one final hand through his hand, desperately racking out the knots, sauce, and remaining flour, before bounding into the hall, just as the doors gave off a faint click and swung open.

As he had suspected, the white head of Baralai bobbed into view, smooth strands almost gleaming under the evening sun. Behind the praetor, however, was a man Gippal hadn't previously met, but recognized by previous trips to Bevelle, who shut the door smoothly with a nudge of the elbow. Yes, same black hair, brown skin.

What was it again? Maroda?

The two were talking quietly though rather animatedly, Baralai with a large parcel of groceries in his hands and Maroda with two smaller ones. Swallowing and licking his lips, Gippal suddenly felt highly stupid as the praetor turned to face him, dark eyes unreadable. His mind told him he should apologize now and just get it over with. Baralai was probably waiting for some sort of explanation anyway…

But before he could say or do anything, the praetor had already walked up to him, albeit hastily, hesitated slightly, whispered a soft "hey"…

… and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Gippal would have stumbled back in shock if there hadn't already been a wall behind him.

Pulling away from the kiss (it had been more of a brush, really), Baralai gave him the fleetest of warnings, a faint caution glare in his eyes, along with a small smile at the sight of Gippal's shock and sputtering indignation. Acting like he had just performed the naturalist thing in the world, he continued down the hall and into the kitchen, calling sweetly over his shoulder, "Bring it in here, Maroda."

The shock now practically rapping him upside the head, Gippal turned, still slightly livid, and blushed to the roots of his hair at the amused though slightly surprised expression Maroda was wearing, who didn't hide his grin fast enough. Instead, the man merely laughed, slipping out of his boots before following his white-haired friend. "So, I take it you're Gippal. Baralai wasn't lying after all. That man really does attract a lot of celebrities, with his innocent looks and all. I'm almost jealous."

Not knowing what to say, the Al Bhed merely blinked, raising an eyebrow rather suspiciously, and was surprised when Maroda stopped in front of him, declared firmly: "I'm Maroda, Isaaru's brother", and proceeded to shake the daylights out of Gippal's hand. That done, he frowned, staring at Gippal firmly, before he smiled warmly once more and continued his way, shifting his parcels back onto his right hand.

Behind him, Gippal blinked.

Mood swings, that one.

So then… He assumed Baralai had agreed.

Unsure whether he should be thankful or worried (now that he thought about it, the entire favor had been a little bizarre) he followed Maroda into the kitchen, not noticing the inert figure of Baralai until it was too late. Foot squelching on several limp noodles, the Al Bhed paused, looking down in faint surprise. Then his memory flooded back again, and he swallowed.

A heated glare scorched into the back of his head.

"Just what… happened here?" Baralai asked softly. Dangerously.

It was enough to send Nooj crawling.

-

Shrugging hair out of his eyes, Baralai twisted out the rag, watching silently as water dripped from its previous confinements into the sink. He held it for several seconds, feeling the slight strain pull against his wrists, before releasing the cloth and shaking it out. The counter in which he had been previously cleaning was faring decently, stains having been persistently picked away.

He turned towards the sink and its array of dirty dishes, innocently gleaming under the kitchen lights. The room was almost completely silent, save for his steady progress and the scrubbing on the floor besides him.

"Hey… 'Lai?"

Gippal's loud yet hesitant drawl shattering the previous silence, Baralai turned slightly, gazing questioningly at the shirtless blond who continued to scrub furiously at the sauce-flecked floor, face hidden behind a mass of golden locks. Though he wasn't sure, the praetor was positive the Al Bhed was currently wearing his poker face, eye hard and mouth set. Sighing softly, Baralai turned back to the sink, rinsing a glass plate and setting it up to dry.

"Yeah?"

He could sense more than hear Gippal hesitate, hand stilling against the floor. Running a hand through his hair, the Al Bhed swallowed, leaning back onto his knees, a faint sheen of sweat on his torso. It amused Baralai slightly how the Al Bhed automatically took off his shirt whenever he did work. When he had asked Gippal why in their first days in the Crimson Squad, the blond had merely replied, "For the ladies. What they ask, I willingly do." He guessed it was just one of those things that stuck.

"About earlier… Why did you — No, why did you agree?"

Baralai raised an eyebrow, grabbing another dish and ignoring the faint blush on his cheeks, having caught the faint hesitation. He knew the original question: Why did you kiss me? Licking his lips, he swallowed. "Long story short, a girl was getting a little bit on my nerves and didn't know when to stop talking, so I told her off."

"Told her off?"

"It was a spur of the moment thing. She wanted to ask you out. I told her that with me being your boyfriend, that could prove to be a problem."

Behind him, Gippal gave off a faint laugh. "I never thought you'd say something like that to a random stranger. Feisty, aren't we?"

There was a splat as Gippal found himself face to face with a wet sponge.

Rubbing his eyes, the Al Bhed growled angrily, chucking the abused item back towards its master as hard as he could. Baralai yelped and shielded his face with a plate, though was a second to late; the sponge cut past his barrier and connected head on with his nose.

The room ringing with Gippal's laughter, the praetor pouted, hiding a small smile. Turning back to the sink, he carefully placed the sponge back to its rightful place.

"So, what reactions did you get?" Gippal's voice, though still laced with amusement, had suddenly gone dry, and Baralai had a hunch why. Despite the Al Bhed's carefree attitude, the praetor knew that he was worried about his reputation as well. Who wouldn't be?

Lucky for him, new would reach Djose slower, but either way, the people there probably wouldn't care or degrade their head by much anyway. Gippal was already the biggest womanizer around; so what if he began to chase men also?

Or so Baralai believed. And Baralai being Baralai, he was never wrong.

"There wasn't anyone else around besides Maroda, though I'd bet all my money that word will be out tomorrow about… us," the praetor muttered quietly, reaching for a dirty cup.

"Ah." A hesitant pause. "Maroda, huh? He's an interesting guy. Pretty calm about it though. I was more expecting him to yell 'Faggot' or something."

Even though Baralai knew the last statement was made more for humor, he bristled a little in defense. Sure, he didn't know the dark-haired man as well as his brother, but he did know him well enough to plot out his personality and values. "Maroda's not like that. Besides, he's dealt with things like this before."

If Gippal had any questions or curiosity with the last phrase, he didn't show it. The Al Bhed merely grunted before continuing with his work, and Baralai did the same. Silence stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, the praetor shifting awkwardly and not knowing what to do. Finally, Gippal broke the silence once more.

"Hey, 'Lai? I… I'm really sorry about doing this to you. If it bothers you in any way… we'll drop it, 'kay? I just don't really want any awkwardness. Like now."

Baralai laughed weakly. "I don't think it can get any worse than this."

Silence, then:

"You realize we'd… have to do more. You know, get used to each other. Act natural."

Baralai nodded slowly, eyes on the clean bowl in his hands.

"And you're still gonna help?"

Another nod, slower than before. There was a ring of uncomfort in the air, mixed emotions merging, the same between them but for different reasons.

"'Lai? I'm really sorry."

The scrubbing had stopped once more.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, the praetor smiled, gazing at his blank expression in the window. "Yeah, I know."

There was a rustle of cloth and the sound of footsteps. Turning back down to rinse out the sink, Baralai started when he felt two arms wrap around him, though a bit awkwardly. The praetor let out a surprised yelp, feeling Gippal's breath brush lightly against his neck.

He swallowed. Not good…

Fighting down a small blush, Baralai forced himself to relax. It was sort of nice, actually… Probably would have been better if the rag the Al Bhed had been using wasn't currently digging into his hip, but… Finally, with a small squeeze, the arms slowly let go.

"Thanks, Baralai."

Brief silence.

"Yeah… No prob."

More silence followed.

"So…" Gippal stated idly behind him, gazing at the ceiling with sudden interest. He ran a hand through his hair before grinning. "I take it if your this mad about your kitchen, you wouldn't exactly wanna see your room, huh?"

Baralai froze.

Slowly, he turned, glaring daggers. "Gippal…"

-

(1) Sorry! I couldn't resist. For all of you blinking and confused, please forgive an author's stupid need to add horribly made jokes… eheh… Yeah, we'll just wait a second for those who fell off their chairs to get righted again before continuing…  
(2) Oh, if only he knew… Please ignore me as I go pet my PS2. Yes, aren't you a good boy? Oh, yes you are!  
(3) Yes, I know that Jacuzzis aren't likely items of enjoyment in Spira, but hey! My rules here. MINE I SAY! Heh.


	3. Phase Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X-2, or any Final Fantasy game whatsoever. Sadly, SquareEnix has the credit and the money while I have nothing but dirty socks.

Warning: Yaoi, possible yuri, sexual themes and horrible humor. You have been warned…

Thanks to Kimi for being my beta-reader.

A/N: I'm back once more! Sorry about the horribly long delay; my family thought it'd be ever so wonderful to go on a _fascinating_ (COUGH) trip to Oklahoma! Woo hoo. Ugh. Yeah, so anyway, I was there for a week (during my spring break, nonetheless… oh, what a waste…) without a phone, a television, and worst of all, without a computer! So hopefully, many of you will understand an author's sad attempt at an apology and move on without throwing tomatoes or anything.

Anyhoo, I have decided that the chapters from now on are to be extra long. There will be one per day of the week that Gippal and Baralai have, so this most likely won't be one of those endless-chaptered fics, but I'm also hoping that the extensive chapters will make up for it.

Also, I'm also going to try to do monthly updates. I know, I know, a whole freaking month, but considering my packed schedule and annoying habit to drift between posts, four-week limits are actually asking for a bit much, and might even be pushed…

One more note: just as a forewarning, Gippal is in no way a morning person. Eheh…

But don't let me keep you from the actual chapter. The third installment follows…

(Oh, and thanks loads for those who corrected my Al Bhed in their reviews, and for those who didn't, feel free to nit-pick at my work. Constructive criticism is something I need right now. Meh, I really suck at that code. I'll try to fix it in my spare time.)

**  
The Art of Deception**  
Natsue Arishima 

**Phase Two: Designing a Suitable Blueprint**

"Gippal! Would you get that please?"

The sounds of Baralai's gentle yet now obnoxiously tumultuous voice, despite being a floor and a shower away, along with the relentless ringing of a chiming doorbell, cut through the darkness and bliss of sleep as effectively as it would have been if one had been jumping up and down on his ribs. Raising a muffled groan, Gippal covered his face with a pillow, burrowing back into his pig's nest of blankets and rubbing a scarred eye irritably, having been successfully torn away from his fantasies of giggling and frolicking women.

That, of course, didn't mean that he couldn't fantasize about them again.

Yet, when sleep was a mere inch away, and when he could faintly hear the sounds of feminine voices…

"Gippal!"

Uuuuuugh…

"Shlepen… G'way…" The Al Bhed waved his hands limply, but being as he was downstairs and Baralai up, the effort was a fruitless attempt.

_"Now!"_ The praetor's final, warning word was accompanied by a long series of doorbell ringing. Gippal cursed angrily under his breath, raising his head groggily and blinking across the room, face contorted with sleep. 6:30. And considering he had gone to sleep last night at around one, when he and the praetor had realized they wouldn't be able to furnish a room upstairs for him without any furniture, he desperately needed the sleep.

A long drone of the annoying chime blared through his skull, rattling its contents.

"Coming!" the Al Bhed snarled, rolling off the couch (yes, the couch, seeing as it was either that, the bathtub, or Baralai's bed) into a crumpled ball on the floor. Still tangled within the numerous sheets, the man pulled himself up to his feet, gave an ungainly wobble, and crashed back down onto the cold, cold floor, cracking his cheek on the way.

For crying out loud…

Cursing louder than before, Gippal managed to somehow worm his way out of his constricting prison, dragging himself onto his feet and fetching his eye patch, which was, annoyingly enough, sitting innocently on the accursed table. The man snapped it on, wincing as it cracked onto his eye, before charging down the hall with all the ferocity of a rampaging, lunatic chimera.

His mind still stupidly drowsy from denied sleep, the Al Bhed began muttering indistinguishable obscenities under his breath as he thundered down the hall. The man fumbled at the doorknob and wrenched it open, hair askew, skin deathly pale, eyes livid and bloodshot, and to top it all off, an unearthly, booger-colored bruise forming smack-dab in his face.

So all in all, it was quite understandable when Pacce gave an ear-splitting screech, howled "IT'S SIN!" and fainted dead away.

What better way for introductions?

A wonderful way to start off the week, really.

* * *

Clothed in nothing but a ratty old pair of jeans (being the only thing in reach during his lunge out of the bathroom and through the door), Baralai's previous irritative aura at being torn away from a soothing shower by suspiciously-sounding screams pertaining to death quickly faded at the sight that greeted him after he had rushed down the stairs. Surprised and amused, the praetor bit down his smile, instead directing his energy at dumping water spells repetitively over the unconscious boy, whose prone body lay sprawled across the doorstep, eyes glazed and deep within the process of forming a series of spit bubbles from the corner of his mouth.

Besides him, Gippal was livid, sputtering indignantly, either from rage or his lack of sleep thereof. (Baralai picked the latter. It was a common fact that sleep-deprived Al Bheds processed information at the rates of worms, and Gippal, sadly, was no exception.) "I — he… wha… damn it all…" His eyes, still hazy and unfocused, were inches away from flying out of their sockets. "He… fainted… from my gorgeous face? _How dare he_!"

Baralai twitched.

The Al Bhed was restrained from his murderous, slightly floundering, attack by a very nervous-looking Maroda, who immediately dumped the contents of his arms onto the floor with a thundering crash and seized hold of the Al Bhed's shoulders. Baralai thanked him profusely.

Ten minutes later found all four in the slightly quieter kitchen. Pacce, revived and sopping wet, was hovering in the far corner, dark eyes darting suspiciously at the ruffed Al Bhed. Said Al Bhed was sitting at the counter, a mug of coffee in his hands and nose in the air, swearing that he would apologize only after Pacce admitted he was hot. Baralai was smiling quietly at the oven (more at Gippal's stupidity than anything else, as well as the fact that Pacce had fainted once more immediately after being revived at a glimpse of the Al Bhed's face), warming some leftovers, while Maroda fussed over his broken possessions, having been dumped rudely onto the floor during the attempts to pacify Gippal.

"So," Gippal drawled, mind slightly clearer than it had been moments before, though still clouded with the last dregs of sleep. He took a long sip of his coffee and choked. Baralai stifled his laughter, no longer having a collar to hide behind, and the blond sent a haughty look his way. "What brings both you fine young ladies… gentlemen here this morning?" The blond shifted slightly, uttering a faint cough.

The praetor rolled his eyes.

Maroda blinked, looking up between his scrapes of glass and ignorant of the fact that he had just been dubbed a woman. "What? Baralai didn't tell you?" Behind him, Pacce sniggered from his corner for reasons unknown, eyes darting around in paranoia.

"… No…"

"We're helping him refurnish his house. Can't have it like this for your lovely reunion, can we?"

Refurnish, house, reunion… Gippal scrunched up his face in a painful attempt to comprehend the three so horribly difficult words. Baralai sighed. A worm of its own, Gippal was.

The words finally seemed to sink in, for the Al Bhed's face lightened immediately. "So I take it that was your previous silverware set?" the man mused dryly at the shattered plates on the floor. He was given a nod and a sad sigh.

"Oh… Erm… sorry 'bout that…"

Maroda shrugged. "Damage's already done." He wistfully matched two pieces together. "Though it was worth a crap-load of gil."

"…"

"Oh, wait, sorry, not meaning to put any guilt on you or anything." The dark-haired man waved his hands apologetically. "You can pay up by helping us get the furniture in. They should be coming soon; I called them a few minutes before I got here."

"Sure thing," the Al Bhed said automatically before the faintest pricks of suspicion lighted his face. "Wait…" He turned accusingly at Baralai, who had been silently tracking the conversation. "You've recruited me as a housemaid?"

The praetor, not being easily intimidated, was unimpressed under the scorching glare. Pulled away from his slowly warming food, he raised an eyebrow. "No… not really. But hey, if you're pro for running around in frilly dresses and aprons as a housemaid, be my guest." Baralai smiled as Gippal's face contorted in an obviously painful attempt to refrain from strangling his companion. Gradually, the blond's massive twitches came to a stop, the bruise on his cheek now a nasty shade of green.

Baralai knew for a fact that, if given a choice, Gippal would rather eat a lich then doing anything that even closely resembled cleaning. As Gippal had said years before: "I do machina and only machina", followed by massive arm flexes and giggling and swooning girls. Baralai hadn't truthfully thought of giving the Al Bhed any part of the work, but considering the man had brought up the topic himself, why not? It was actually quite a brilliant idea. Smiling his most innocent smile, the praetor batted his eyelashes at the nearly revolted other. "You'll help, right?"

"But…" Gippal sputtered, cowering on his stool. "No… I am _not_ gonna help you decorate your fucking mansion. Do you know how long that would take? I have things to do, women to see —" Baralai's protruding elbow on top of his head promptly shut him up.

Pacce snickered again, and nearly fainted once more at the blue-eyed glower.

"Think of it as… a _favor_…" Baralai whispered softly, reaching out a hand and tucking back several of Gippal's more unruly strands. The blond narrowed his eyes at contact, catching the knowing gleam in Baralai's dark eyes. Fine, a favor for a favor. He supposed it was fair…

He suddenly wondered what the original favor had been in the first place before the events of the previous two days literally kicked him in the brain: Rikku, devil woman, date, Baralai, boyfriend…

Oh yeah…

Add yesterday's… odd, er… lip brushing, and Gippal was partially ready to dive under the covers once more and dream everything away, where there were no worries whatsoever (except, perhaps, on how many condoms his dream double possessed). Strange, really, how the weekend had passed like a breeze, leaving important spaces blank and embarrassing spaces large and crystal clear.

He sighed, realizing again just how stupid he had been to ask Baralai such a favor.

Sure, he had suggested the "no awkward emotions" rule, but he doubted that they could hold it up much longer. Being around Baralai would just become… he could find no other word for it besides awkward. Technically, it wasn't that bad. The two of them still enjoyed each other's company like before, or at least were close to getting to that key point in friendship that they had previously shared, and at times things seemed almost absolutely normal. But whenever other people were around, or when the topic was brought up, things got uncomfortable. And considering how he had never exactly had to experience such emotions before, he couldn't say he was easeful with it. Another infuriating fact was that Baralai was perfectly natural with the whole ordeal.

He frowned. If Baralai could act casual, so could he. Right? He was Gippal Almighty, after all. If anyone was good at acting gay, it'd be him.

He couldn't regret the whole thing forever anyway.

Oh yes, he'd show them. He'd be the queerest of them all. He'd be so crooked he'd be straight. He'd be so gay he'd send homos to shame. He would definitely over-power Baralai's obvious fakeness. Oh yes, that'd be what he'd do.

…

Bastard.

Even during the summer, after strutting around proclaiming Baralai as his wife, he had never felt this awkward. Then again, Baralai hadn't kissed him either, so he supposed it had been on slightly different terms, and besides, that had been on his home ground. People here were so uptight, it was a wonder they were able to walk around with those sticks shoved up their asses.

And besides, back then, things had been like a game. He could call it off whenever he felt like it, and it hadn't been a requirement to hold up the act. Now, it was a priority if he wanted to get rid of Devon for good. And get rid of her for good he definitely wanted.

Now, to act gay…

Right. First rule: to change the inside, change the outside. Staring at nothing in particular (and unknowingly gazing at Baralai's ass as the praetor returned to the oven), Gippal scoffed slightly, realizing that, among the numerous firsts he seemed to be experiencing, this was also the first time he had ever actually considered acting even the slightest bit queer. He supposed he should have thought about it earlier had he been smart, but, well, it was too late now. He sighed.

Where was he?

Oh yeah. To change the inside, change the outside.

He'd go shopping.

That _was_ what queers did, right?

See, he was getting somewhere!

God was this uncomfortable…

Chugging the last drops of liquid in his mug, the Al Bhed shot up and declared his sudden and strange urge to leave the house. That done, he barged onwards before any protests (most of which from a white-haired praetor) could be made, giving a wave and searing out the door. It wasn't like he was in the mood for moving furniture anyway.

Gippal forgot two very important things. One, that he and Baralai were both extremely popular among Spira's top people, and for them to rouse suspicion or change in anyway would surely result in a worldwide catastrophe, and two, that women from Bevelle were extremely straightforward and rather menacing at times, especially when it came to unfavorable rumors of their favorite men.

If he hadn't previously known the latter, he would soon find out.

* * *

Sifting from store to store, Gippal found that most Bevellian shops contained potions, staffs, swords, tables, dressers, mechanical gadgets, chocobo mutants, indistinguishable blobs, screaming children, blood-hungry hounds, and all other insanely bizarre and disordered things. What they didn't have, however, were clothes of any kind. No shirts, no pants, no coats, no hats, no shoes, no nothing. Besides the occasional tortoise-scaled thong, there was absolutely nothing that he needed.

Okay, so he lied. There were plenty of clothes. The only problem was that they absolutely fucking sucked. Plain or garish, large or impossibly tight.

That would explain Baralai's wardrobe then. (1)

Pokka dots, checkered, old, holey, baggy, loose… Some stuck to him like second skin. Wherever he went, they glared out at him, colors horribly sewn together, patterns weak and years out of date. He swore that were he to stare and search any longer, they would have burned out his eyeballs and left him as a charred heap of ash on the ground.

Okay, so he lied again. They weren't that bad. They were just stiff, boring, clashing, dysfunctional, and positively murderous. But not that bad, really. They just…weren't him. They were too… neat, straight, different. Too Bevelle-like.

In other words, he was broke, and everything was too damn expensive.

After another thirty minutes, the Al Bhed was found pondering to himself, contemplating whether or not to return back to Baralai's place. He was two steps closer to the mansion before he remembered the shit-load of furniture and chores most likely waiting him there; that thought in mind, he promptly spun around on his heel and continued his way down the street, hands casually in his pockets and followed by a large pack of drooling and swirly-eyed girls.

His second instinct was to go and seduce man's gentler sex, and he winked at several passing targets as well as the mass stalkers behind him as he continued his ever so casual way. The majority of his victims remained swooning and blushing, though he was surprised to see some passing girls frown and turn away. Rumors, perhaps? His train of thought reminded him that his usual idea of fun was no longer a pleasure that he could do because of his… tight restrictions.

Damn.

He was disappointed, yes, but reminded himself that that slot would be open again once this whole ordeal was over. There was no way, however, that he was returning to the mansion unless he had to, meaning that unless the earth jumped up and began swallowing Spira, or if acid hail began to rain, or if he was plowed down by a rampaging mob, he wouldn't return. As long as there was no confrontation with angry homophobics, he would be peachy fine. Sighing, the Al Bhed resumed his sad shopping spree, scanning the ground for loose gil.

The girls behind him watched his every move, mouths open to such a degree that Gippal never thought it was humanly possible. Strange, though. Perhaps the rumors and small talk had yet to go all the way around. Why else would he still be the center of attention with the ladies? He seemed to be attracting a wider variety of girls as well. His thoughts were confirmed when an old lady passed him and winked, gnarly hands a clawed vice on her walking stick.

Shudder…

"Yer a brave one, admitten' stuff liek dat," she growled, patting him on his back. The force of her hand almost drove him face-first into the ground. Sputtering, he straightened himself up again, only to have the wrinkled hand pat — no, punch — him twice as hard. Gasps were elicited as he crashed into a clothes rack.

Gippal suddenly realized that, among the numerous faces of girls and old women, eyes of men dwelled as well.

Aw shit.

Smiling weakly, he jerked his shoulder away and continued his search for decent clothes, albeit rabidly. Even in the dressing rooms he felt like he was being watched. Women and men alike swarmed around him like annoying flies; it was becoming rather overwhelming. Never in Djose did he draw such a crowd. Then again, Djose's population was considerably smaller than that of Bevelle. Normally he wouldn't have minded. It was attention after all. In the spotlight. But after dozens of offers from willing citizens to help him strip were made, Gippal felt that maybe, just maybe, it was crossing the line.

A tiny part of his brain told him that perhaps moving furniture wouldn't be too bad after all. The voice magnified to a deafening roar after he was cornered by two surly looking men batting eyelashes at him.

"Um… hi," he managed to squeak before crawling away from his suffocating prison.

Minutes later found him yelping at repetitive pinches in rather private areas. Turning, he murmured seductively, "Slow down, ladies," only to find himself face to face with a drooling man in a blindingly bright neon trench coat. Honestly, he hadn't even known that the clothing was made in such a gaudy shade.

Whispers heightened as he passed by, most of which, surprisingly, were pro for his situation. A girl with a chocobo gazed at him dreamily, muttering something along the lines of "I don't care if he's gay. He's still a slice of sexy man flesh…" before promptly getting kicked in the guts by her feathered steed. Gippal decided to avoid any other suspicious-looking chocobo freaks.

An old woman that had been hanging up dripping articles of clothing glared at him before elbowing her friend. "I knew he was gay all along. Men have to be very sure of their sexuality to wear such a shade of pink."

Gippal twitched.

He passed up two other date offers from leering men, and by the end of the hour (had it only been an hour? Good god!) was inches away from tearing out his hair and thundering down the street like a raving lunatic. Jumping up onto a pile of reeking crates, chest heaving, face livid, and eyes inches from popping out of their sockets, he bellowed, "LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

His words failed their duty; they drew, if possible, even more people.

Shooting himself in the head didn't sound so bad right now.

Yanking his boot out of the grip of a melting man with four teeth, he shrieked, "I'M NOT INTERESTED! SO DON'T ASK!" A few other men attached themselves to his leg and begged for him to go out with them. Good lord. Disgusted and slightly appalled, he shook them off. More pleads and whines followed and he nearly fell off the crates. "I DIG BARALAI ONLY AND THAT'S THAT!"

Silence.

Huh.

Well wasn't that odd.

He blinked, going into a temporary daze and unknowingly striking a pose. That had been… _really_ weird. He ran the words over in his head again. Wow. Just… strange. No other way to describe it.

He was brought back to earth by coos and giggles. The men pulled away, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. Served them right, Gippal thought smugly as he watched them go with an air of superiority, arms crossed over his chest. His complacent thoughts dissipated when he realized that half of the female population remained present, eyeing him with wonder and "You Are My New Idol" stamped across their foreheads. Words like, "He's so sweet!", "Lucky Yevon bastards," and "Hear that, Baralai and Baralai only… Such a romantic," rippled through the crowd.

Gippal drooped his head in defeat.

Really, he should have gone back and moved that damn furniture, though it was too late now, the Al Bhed thought woefully as he jumped off the wobbling crates, swatting away eager hands. He proceeded to march towards the nearest bathroom and lock himself in, leaning against the door and sliding onto the floor. He'd stay and wait them out. Or rot. Either way, he _really_ didn't want to return to that house unless necessary. Besides, the worst was already over. Right?

Okay, so moving shit wasn't so bad, but… if he did it today, he'd have to do it tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, until he grew old and broke his back and turned into a hag and wandered the streets in rags and begged for money… Overreacting much? Of course not. And besides, it just wasn't something he'd normally do. Machina was fun, but furniture was just too straightforward. Too boring. Not to mention heavy. He didn't dig things like that.

Realizing that it was suddenly very quiet, he slowly and silently unlocked the hatch and peeped out his head to find a smelly, dirty, and completely and wonderfully empty bathroom. Breathing a sigh of relief, he cautiously inched out, diving for the nearest stand after he'd left the safety of his previous haven, curling himself into the smallest ball that he could possibly roll into without breaking anything. Who knew the people of Bevelle were this easily roused?

When minutes passed and no one came up to him, he relaxed and stood up. A gunshot couldn't have been more effective; around him, several women turned and he immediately tensed, quivering and ready to dive back into the bathroom. They smiled to each other, some giggling, and rushed forward to him again, springing up questions and requests.

"How far have you gotten?"

"What's it like?"

"Who's on top?"

"How does he kiss?"

"How do _you _kiss?"

"Wanna kiss me?"

… Bevelle… was so twisted.

The Al Bhed sighed. Guess he'd have to go through with it. But hey, at least he was no longer being tailed by men, the groping (not that he minded that much) had lessened, and the clothes ripping had stopped completely. He could live with this. It looked like he didn't need to respond to the call of furniture after all. Smirking slightly (the women behind him swooned), he continued his casual way, temporarily forgetting what he had come for in the first place before an ugly feathered scarf spurred his memory. He sighed, returning back to the numerous shelves and racks that awaited him.

No, the Almighty Gippal was not hiding from his work. Neither was he avoiding it.

He'd much rather think of it as… a strategical evasion of obligatory work. Sly as a fox. Yes, cool and detached. Coy, cunning, smart, and —

Sweet mother of fuck, was that DEVON?

The girls around him blinked as the area where the Al Bhed had stood was replaced with a cloud dust.

Swallowing and straightening himself, Gippal continued to indulge himself in… women's animal-skinned bras. Right. Best to duck out of that department. He resurfaced again in the flashy pants section. Not the best, but it would have to do. Peeking around the corner, he fumbled with a pair of pants and literally tied a knot around his arms with them in his nervousness and shock. Gippal cursed loudly. Could this day get any better? Muttering to himself, he ripped them off, wincing at the previously intact and now destroyed seam he'd helped ruin in the crotch area.

His guilt evaporated when he realized that the girl in which he'd thought to be the devil woman was an entirely different person. Clasping his hands together, he took a few seconds thanking the "God Dude" before striding out with confidence. That had been completely stupid. Rikku had already told him that Devon was currently on a vacation on some god-forsaken island that no one knew about. Hence the reason he had come to Baralai in the first place, instead of dialing up the girl, calling it off right then, and hoping she'd have no questions and never contact him again.

Psshh. In dreams, maybe.

Gippal, you dumbass.

Besides, even if he had known her phone number, he doubted that he would have called her anyway.

Why? That girl literally scared the crap out of him.

It took several moments after his growing fanclub had found him once more before he decided that perhaps Baralai's place was the safest and smartest place to be after all. And besides, he really needed to think things over. And perhaps talk with the praetor. Plot out where they were going with this. And how far the two of them were actually willing to go.

He made a mental reminder to thank Baralai again once he got a chance. Not everyone would volunteer to act as his or her best friend's gay boyfriend.

Sigh.

Grudgingly, he turned towards the rightful direction. Ah well. He couldn't put off work forever. That'd be in a perfect world, with no devil incarnates and rabid fans. In no way was Spira perfect.

Far from it.

* * *

He returned unscathed (physically; his clothes had suffered a small beating) to find a gigantic truck outside Baralai's large and impressive house. Said praetor was currently dragging a miniature sofa inside the opened double doors, silver hair gleaming almost unnaturally in the sun, with the help of a weary-looking Maroda. Gippal felt a small pang of guilt at this, and swallowing, proceeded onto the verdant lawn.

"Hey… hold up," the praetor strained, setting down his end of the leather seat and wiping his forehead. A few steps inside the house, Maroda also placed his half on the floor, leaning on it as he caught his breath. Behind them, there was a crash and an unruly wail; the dark-haired man sighed and rolled his eyes. Turning, he hollered a warning "Pacce!" before smiling sheepishly at his companion. Baralai laughed, nodding. "Go ahead. Make sure he's not flattened or anything."

Maroda hesitated slightly before nodding back. "I'll be right back." He disappeared into the house.

Sighing slightly, Baralai frowned and looked the sofa over. He pondered silently for a few seconds before blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, shifting and slamming all his weight onto the couch. It was almost comical. Despite his effort and faint curses, the damnable thing remained motionless.

He pulled back and attempted a new, faintly desperate with a dash of annoyance, tactic. He kicked it. Hard. And obtained nothing except a throbbing big toe.

Behind him, Gippal laughed.

Baralai literally jumped, and the first mental image that spun into Gippal's mind was that of a chocobo caught in machina lights. Honestly, the praetor was almost cute like that, something he'd never thought he'd feel the need to express. Spinning around in surprise, the white-haired man tripped on his banged up foot and stumbled forward. He would have also most likely fallen on his face had it not been for the Al Bhed, who lunged forward and caught him securely in his arms.

"Mmph…" Baralai mumbled, blushing faintly. Gippal smelled… it was indescribable, though addicting nonetheless. Realizing what he was doing, the praetor pulled away rather meekly. He was _not_ supposed to let his emotions get in the way. This was about Gippal. He'd already decided on that.

He wasn't going to make things more awkward then they were already bound to be. Gippal came to him as a friend. A friend only. The boyfriend thing would be an act. Nothing more. Unless he absolutely had too, Baralai wasn't going to back out of his favor because of his own daft emotions.

"You're back." A blunt statement.

Gippal raised an eyebrow, striking his usual stance. "You sound disappointed," he teased.

A shrug. "Maybe I am."

The Al Bhed pinched the other's nose playfully, spurring a yelp and a frown. Muttering and rubbing his molested facial feature, the praetor glared sharply at the other, who laughed. "Hey, save that crap for later." Walking partially inside the open doors, Gippal gazed down at the silent couch, twitching ever so slightly. "So," he managed to growl, glaring at the leather. "Which room to?"

Baralai eyed him suspiciously as the Al Bhed braced himself and reached to pick up his end. "What's with the sudden urge to be a good, helpful citizen?"

"Hey, I'm in a rather generous mood right now. And here I was, thinking you'd be grateful." Gippal flashed his companion his "come-hither" grin, hands hooked securely around the sofa's stubby, wooden legs.

Baralai rolled his eyes. "You had men following you in the marketplace, didn't you?"

"Damn straight! And I am _never_ going back there again."

Sighing and unable to conceal his grin, the praetor shook his head and reached for the sofa again. With a nod, the two of them huffed and puffed the cursedly heavy item into the brightly-lit hallway. At Baralai's word, they proceeded to stumble along to the entertainment room, where the praetor's arms gave way and prompted the sofa to crash onto the floor, leaving Gippal standing helplessly before the weight was too much to bear and he ever so elegantly flopped onto the ground.

"Thanks loads," the Al Bhed mumbled against the carpet.

"You're most welcome."

Propping himself weakly onto his elbows, Gippal ran a hand through his hand and gazed listlessly around the room. "Okay, aren't you supposed to have little professional mover creeps heaving your furniture around for you?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?" the praetor questioned, blinking innocently.

Gippal banged his head against the floor.

"So…" he snarled, face slightly red from its harsh contact with the floor, "Why. Are. We. Moving. This. Shit." Overly enunciated _just_ in case the praetor didn't get it.

"We're moving the small stuff. I'm not going to dish out gil when I know I could have done some of the work."

At such a degree of intimacy, the carpet was almost dazzling.

"You call this small?" the Al Bhed shrieked in disbelief, waving wild arms at the sofa as he jumped up to his feet. "It's as big as a freakin' cow! Do you know how big cows are? You could jump on them without them noticing! They could flatten people by sitting on them! Pulverize human flesh! A _cow_, dammit!"

Baralai shrugged, flicking imaginary pieces of lint off his shirt and obviously unimpressed. "Better than that new washing machine Maroda helped me with earlier."

Honestly, people of Bevelle were weird.

"Anything… else?" Gippal hissed icily, pulling himself to his feet. What a cold-hearted man, that Baralai. He leaned on the sofa just in case he would be sent back into the floor again. Yep, he hated furniture. Despised it.

The praetor frowned and began counting on his fingers. "No…" he said slowly. "No, that's basically it. You missed most of the heavy work on your four-hour excursion. How was it, by the way?"

"I took four hours! For real? No… it couldn't have been…" Gippal trailed off mumbling in Al Bhed, frowning and arguing with himself. When his companion continued to stare at him blankly, he sighed. "Want me to be subtle or blunt?"

"Either or. Your choice."

"A'rite." He cleared his throat. "I. Hate. Bevelle."

Baralai laughed. "I thought as much."

In a fluid movement, he walked towards the sofa and sat down, eliciting a small sigh of relief and satisfaction as he sunk into the cushions, folded his legs, and observed the contents of the room with a critical eye. It was coming along nicely. After the entire morning of moving and re-organizing, he and Maroda had practically gotten everything done and down. A few more minor touches and their part of the job would be over. Never again was he planning to lift another couch, let alone a lamp. He'd leave that to the movers.

The cushion next to him sunk down slightly and he jerked himself out of his thoughts, turning to see Gippal also settle himself down on the heavy piece of furniture, stretching out his legs and folding his arms behind his head. He gazed at the Al Bhed for a moment, watching his every movement, before smiling and closing his eyes, leaning his head back, enjoying this one moment of complete comfort and silence.

The Al Bhed cleared his throat, crossing his legs and resting them on Baralai's, whose eyes fluttered open as he raised an eyebrow towards the invading limbs. Gippal smiled, stretching.

"Don't mind, to you?"

Baralai sighed. "As long as they don't smell."

"Good. No problems then."

The praetor snorted. Besides him, the blond glanced almost cautiously around the room before whispering, "We need to talk."

He sensed the sudden urgency in the usually carefree voice. Swallowing, he straightened up and nodded, prompting Gippal to continue.

"Okay." The blond shifted slightly awkwardly. "For this whole… act… thing, we haven't exactly set the ground rules yet."

"Yeah, I was waiting for that," the praetor mused, cocking his head to the side. "But first, one question that you have yet to explain to me. Why do this?" At Gippal's confused expression, Baralai sighed. "Why are you bothering with me when you can just tell Devon to call it off?"

Once glance at the blond's horrified face told Baralai he was either missing something or being stupid. And seeing as he rarely did the latter, he assumed that there was, indeed, something missing.

"You really think I haven't thought about that?" Gippal exclaimed, jerking upwards. The praetor shied backwards from the spray of spit. "Oops, sorry 'bout that…" He wiped his mouth hastily. "But hey, believe me, if it was that fucking easy, I already would have done something like that. But dude, she's nothing like a normal, regular, healthy human being. She's like… a leech. A filthy, blood-sucking leech."

Gippal shuddered, rubbing his arms furiously. Baralai raised an eyebrow. "What a nice comparison," he muttered.

The blond sent his dazzling though slightly sheepish grin towards him. "Spur of the moment thing. Anyway, you really think she'll back off that easily?" He paused for a moment before laughing softly. "I know her type. She doesn't care about the typical loser guy. But when she finds a winner, a famous, all that guy" —(Gippal wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk) — "she will do everything in her power to keep him in her grasp."

The praetor chuckled faintly, throwing a gentle swipe towards his companion, who dodged it. "And what makes you think you're such a catch?"

"What, jealous?"

Baralai shook his head, switching back to the original problem. "Right. So for some strange reason you aren't able to just tell her off face to face —"

"And I don't exactly know where she is right now." A sheepish smile.

The praetor twitched. "Saying that would have made this a lot easier, you know?"

"I was getting there."

The white-haired man shook his head. Honestly… He rubbed his temples brief before turning to face Gippal once more. Al Bheds… "But you know for a fact that she's coming back this weekend."

"Sadly, yes. Saturday, thing's on Sunday."

"And who informed you of this?"

"Rikku, that bitch…"

"And you trust her?"

"Duh! I went out with her long enough to know her general personality, and trust me, that girl can't lie."

Baralai laughed softly before he reflected on the blond's previous words. He bit his lip. Devon would be coming back this weekend. That'd give them less than a week. Best get things running then. "So what about these guidelines?"

Tearing his gaze from the ceiling to the praetor's indifferent expression, Gippal lifted his head from its previous resting place against his arms. He nodded slightly, thinking. "A'right. You know that this has to be as persuasive as we can get it to be."

"Right."

"Meaning complete ease with each other in the house and in public. When asked, no sputtering or blushing and denying the fact that we're… well, going out."

"Mm hmm," Baralai replied nonchalantly, before realizing that he was supposed to be paying attention to Gippal instead of his nails. A small smile suddenly found a way to his face as his mind registered the blond's previous words. Turning to the other mischievously, he murmured. "Perfectly fine with me, but do you think you can keep it up?"

"And we're gonna hafta — wait, what?" Gippal sputtered indignantly, jerking upright. "Keep it up? I should think so!"

"I dunno… You _were_ really tense yesterday. I'd better be careful if I were you. Don't want to ruin your own plan by bad acting."

"I — what — what in the world are you implying? That I can't act? I'll have you know, acting is something I _depend_ on when dumping or picking a girl! If you —"

"Alright, alright. I believe you," Baralai replied seriously, but a hitch in his voice betrayed his intentions.

Gippal frowned. "No you don't."

"Of course I don't. What, you think I'm impaired or something? If it keeps on going like your reaction from yesterday, even the dumbest person — even LeBlanc, and Yevon knows nothing gets through _her_ unusually thick skull — will know that you're faking it."

The Al Bhed placed a hand on his chest, shocked. "I think _you're_ the one who's gonna hafta kick it up a notch! Me? I should think not!" He shoved his nose in the air now ringing with the praetor's light, soothing laughter. "And besides, I don't think you're striking the proper tone with me right now; I'm very sensitive."

Baralai raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure. And by the way, you're _fabulous_ at taking criticism." He smiled, knowing that Gippal's temper would most likely get the better of him again.

"I —" Gippal paused before slowly closing his mouth, staring hard at his hands as he slowly calmed himself, much to the praetor's surprise. Baralai narrowed his eyes. The blond was taking this whole dating ordeal a lot more seriously than he had expected. It was the third time in his entire life that he'd seen Gippal refrain or at least attempt to block his usual string of yells and curses, silent and somber instead.

He didn't like this Gippal.

Swallowing harshly, the Al Bhed sighed. "Right. You're right. Sorry. I dunno, this is all so sudden…"

"Ah ha! So you admit you can't act!" the praetor teased, pressing a small attempt to liven the atmosphere again. It seemed to work.

The blond twitched before grabbing a pillow and bashing Baralai over the head with it, who gasped in surprise before yanking harshly at the obtruding object, jerking it successfully out of Gippal's hands. Laughing triumphantly, he smirked before thwacking his companion back, who sputtered. "Oh, you're asking for it!" he roared before springing forward and tackling the white-haired man.

Baralai yelped, attempting to worm out of the Al Bhed's grip. He failed miserably, sides aching from laughter.

"Still think you're such a natural?" Gippal sneered above him, furiously tickling his sides.

Holding back a peal of laughter, the praetor nodded.

"Well then, why don't you prove —"

His sentence was cut off by a high-pitched wail when a blur of black sped into the room.

"— that your dick's bigger than mine!" Gippal finished lamely, face a neon shade of crimson as he screamed out the first thought in mind that (to him) seemed to be a phrase a typical crooked man might say. Hastily, he rolled off the couch and away from his previous odd position. The praetor smacked himself in the forehead out of shame and pity for the blond's limited brainpower, still slightly breathless as he pushed himself up again.

Thankfully, the black blur, which proved itself to be Pacce, wasn't paying them the least bit of attention. Chest heaving and face contorted in horror, he darted under the sofa (how he managed to squeeze his chubby form under there still remains a mystery) and lay there quivering and at the same time hissing, "He's gonna kill me… he's gonna kill me…" at the same time letting out strings of laughter.

When the boy refused to say anything intelligible, the praetor gave up and gazed apologetically (and not without a dash of his previous playfulness and spur of shame) at Gippal, mouthing, _"We'll talk later." _That done, he paced out of the room, beckoning his still fuming companion to follow, who did, albeit suspiciously. "What…?" he drawled slowly as his friend led him back into the hallway.

"I forgot about that table," was his curt reply.

* * *

Four 'o clock found all four boys, including a very bruised and miserable Pacce and a colorfully painted Maroda, in the kitchen, with Baralai at the counter once more, heating up any leftovers and instant meals he had left in the fridge for a rather late lunch. Or early dinner. Dunch. Linner. Something like that. Right.

Ahem.

Sprawled out on the floor, Gippal remained limp and surprisingly quiet. It turned out that Baralai had also forgotten the loveseat, armchair, dining room chairs, a gazillion books, and another couch. Honestly, he hadn't even thought the man had been serious. After the final murderous shove on the fat and lousy couch, Gippal had collapsed and refused to never move or speak again, only giving off a small grunt when Maroda had been forced to drag him away from the living room and onto the kitchen floor by an amused Baralai.

It was actually a very hard vow to keep up, considering there was a stupid piece of mysterious crap digging sharply and relentlessly into his back.

Then again, it gave him an excuse to think.

Eyes locking onto a random section of the bare ceiling, Gippal frowned to himself. He had tried to talk to Baralai earlier, but after being accused of being a horrible actor and walked in on, he had been unable to discuss what he had been planning to say all day. It didn't quite help the fact that what little words he had managed to squeeze in were a hundred-percent true: to avoid having Devon ever contact him again (hopefully), the act had to be flawless and completely casual. Absolutely perfect. They had to appear to be perfectly normal homos in any way possible. And though he had known this all along, the effect was quite different once being said out loud. The act that the praetor had agreed to help him with was now far more serious than he had expected it to be.

All under (he realized with a jolt) seven days.

Seven, puny days. Which meant that they had to get started now. ASAP.

Oh joy.

He also had to admit, the public reaction he had received this morning had been surprising even for him; he hadn't expected news to have traveled that fast. He also hadn't expected to receive positive reactions among the negative; in fact, there had been seemingly more fans than usual. That was something he definitely didn't want to find out a reason for.

He also never knew that the gay community was so freaking large.

That'd explain the numerous male love letters he'd found in Baralai's room yesterday.

The Al Bhed slowly turned his head to look at the praetor, who remained oblivious for several seconds as Gippal looked him over, something he either did when picking up a new girl, examining a hated rival, or when inspecting a weird, usually fat stranger. The blond was astonished at the white-haired man's overall figure. Perhaps it had been because of his previous traumatizing experience, or because of his long and hard thinking period, or perhaps his coffee had been drugged this morning, but this had been the first time for him to ever notice the praetor's almost feminine body, though with less apparent curves and a (sadly) flatter chest. He supposed he'd have to get used to that. The man was thinner too, something that Gippal didn't mind too much. Honestly, the girls were getting more and more overweight these days.

He blinked, realizing with a start that his object of scrutiny was staring back at him, eyebrows in their trademark raise.

Eyebrows that had also been raised in disbelief, and Gippal turned back his head. Though it hadn't been serious, how dare he think that he, the Almighty Gippal, was incapable of acting gay for a week? He had even suggested the whole ordeal himself; what Gippal suggested, Gippal could do. No sweat.

He hadn't been that bad, had he?

No. Of course not.

The praetor evidently had no idea who he was messing with.

"Oh look, the dead has come back to life," the praetor muttered dryly, quickly erasing all previous suspicions from Gippal's mind as the blond gave off a small snort and slowly dragged himself back onto his feet. Gazing around at the two arguing brothers ("arguing" was a bit of an understatement; the two of them were currently in headlock, with Maroda's fist in Pacce's face and Pacce's knee in Maroda's gut), he bit his lip, hoping for once that their fighting would preoccupy them enough to not bother with their surroundings. For once, silence was something he highly desired.

He wasn't exactly in the right mood to talk to anyone right now, especially the cocky white-haired man currently wearing a pink, flowered apron (though he knew it was a necessity in his current case), and the stupid dumbass ape who had chosen the absolute worst time to barge into an entertainment room.

Though he really didn't want to, he _needed_ to talk to Baralai. Unless they were going to get these entire boyfriend-boyfriend things right and settled, he was never going to get rid of Devon.

As his gaze swiveled around back to Baralai, the praetor raised another eyebrow, evidently reading the faint uneasiness in the other's hesitant yet firm stare.

_We need to talk. Now!_

Bronze eyes widened before the praetor pursed his lips faintly and mouthed back, _"I know. Later."_

About to place another protest, all complaint left Gippal's head when the pot containing noodles that Baralai had been cooking began to overflow. Not noticing until it was too late, the praetor spun around and let out a surprised yelp. It turned into one of pain when several droplets of the boiling water splashed relentlessly with his arm. Hissing slightly, he reached forward and turned off the oven and rubbed his scalding skin as the spitting liquid slowly receded.

Gippal found himself at the other's side in a flash, not knowing when he had completely straightened up and not really caring either. A sole purpose in mind to help his friend, he took Baralai's arm gently and led him over to the sink, where he quickly turned on the faucet, grabbed a rag, and slowly began to wipe the burn. From the edge of his vision, he caught a pair of startled, brown eyes, watching him silently, mouth slightly agape, as he slowly rubbed the slender, tanned, and amazingly smooth arm.

Feeling like he'd accomplished the first important thing all day, Gippal turned off the sink, twisted out the rag, and returned Baralai's arm to its rightful owner, all proud and glowing. So he wasn't a useless twit after all. He suddenly realized that Maroda and Pacce were both looking at him, the younger of the two sniggering and the older with a faint smirk on his face.

"Oh… Er…" the Al Bhed stammered. His momentary useful happiness quickly faded. What had started to be a mere attempt to help a friend had turned into a slightly awkward situation. Just fucking great.

Why did everything he do seem like a gay reaction in the eyes of his peers?

Damn them all…

Shock wearing off, Baralai smiled besides him and saved him the trouble of making an even bigger fool of himself by personally doing it for him. "Thanks," he murmured softly, kissing the slightly stunned Al Bhed (he _really_ had to get used to this; it was the second time in two days…) on the cheek before turning back to the stove. "Noodles, anyone?"

Gippal had to refrain himself from wiping the kiss off his face.

That sneaky Bevellian bastard…

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" the Al Bhed snarled under his breath. He received a small smile in response. "It comes naturally," Baralai whispered faintly in his ear as he made his way to the cupboards. Hand resting on smooth wood, the praetor paused momentarily, a thoughtful expression on his face before a grin tugged upwards at his lips. "Unlike some people…" he finished faintly, words barely audible.

Gippal stiffened. Joke's on you, praetor.

A new competitive glint in his eye, Baralai shifted his hips suggestively as he reached up for several plates. Gippal cocked his head, reading the praetor's body language perfectly, and when offered some food, refused it with a small grin slowly pulling at his lips. It seemed as if the praetor wanted to spice things up by turning this act into a battle of guts. Another glance at confident, bronze eyes clearing reading, _Backing out,_ and Gippal's mind was set. Payback time. He'd prove to that bastard that he could act anyplace, anyhow. Competition it was. And he would most definitely win.

Gippal did not lose. Not now, not ever.

… Okay, so he didn't really know how queers naturally thought, but he'd seen enough of them on his trips (honestly, they'd traveled in packs, almost like tourist attractions) around Spira to understand their basic concept. Flamboyant, loud, picky, and constantly telling bad yet sadly humorous jokes. Yep. They also kissed men. And besides, there was always compromising. And compromise he would.

Let the games begin.

Behind him, Baralai sauntered back to the noodle-filled pot, plates in hand and hips swaying just this side of suggestive, the smallest of smirks on his face. His eyes turned to face Gippal, as if saying, _"I dare you."_

Really pushing it there.

Feisty little praetor. Well, he could play too.

Paper plates in hand, Baralai turned and headed back to the oven, followed by a silently plotting Gippal. Mentally arguing with himself in Al Bhed, the blond was dragged back down to earth when his companion paused his slow walk in front of him, a little too close to comfort. And though his first instinct was to back up a step, Gippal remained rooted to the spot, determined not to move an inch.

He stared cockily into those dark, unreadable eyes. Baralai seemed to be taking great amusement out of this, and though Gippal hated to admit it, the praetor did have some natural moves. Not like it worried the blond anyway. There was no way he'd lose to a praetor. It would just make things more… interesting.

His companion took another step closer, their bodies now an inch away from each other, testing the blond and seeing just how much it took to make him falter. Gippal scoffed. Nice try, but he wasn't backing out. Okay, so feeling Baralai's breath on his neck was a little surprising (not that he couldn't handle it or anything) and the little tingly sensations spurred by it didn't help either, but…

… It _was_ freaking too much when the praetor leaned forward and nipped at the juncture between neck and shoulder.

Alarmed, the Al Bhed took a step backwards, glaring at his triumphant companion, who grinned faintly and murmured, "Baralai one, Gippal zero."

Grr…

The praetor returned to his pot of noodles and Gippal prowled after him, eyebrows a straight line of determination in the middle of his forehead. Right when Baralai began spooning out the pasta, the Al Bhed pounced, grabbing the other's hips and grinding against them. Baralai let out another surprised yelp, dropping the noodles back into the pot, and the blond was allowed a few seconds to bask in his momentary glory before the other turned and ran his hand down his chest, pausing at the hemline of his pants before slipping under them.

OOOOOKAY!

Gippal jumped back, ramming into the counter, and Baralai raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing onhis features as he turned back to the oven. "Baralai two, Gippal one. Nice try, though."

The blond refrained from ripping out his hair.

He was a devil, that Baralai.

As the four of them settled down around the table to eat (Gippal had fought tooth and nail to get the seat next to the praetor), the blond smirked and scooted closer. There was no stopping him now. The act of footsie was a no-brainer. Smoothly, he raised his knee under the table and began toying around with Baralai's, who jumped and dropped his fork. .

Ha.

Once again, his glory was short-lived when Baralai settled, rolled his eyes, and began playing footsie with Gippal as well — except with one small difference. He used his hands.

Dammit.

The hour flew by, with Gippal playing with Baralai's shirt, Baralai unbuttoning Gippal's shirt, Gippal teasing Baralai's pants, Baralai literally pantsing Gippal in return, and so on. There was no way to beat this guy! Gippal stole some food off of Baralai's fork; the praetor repaid him by sitting in his lap and force-feeding him. Face covered in noodles and sauce, Gippal excused himself before his stealthy companion could pull another point by cleaning his face with his tongue or something, trudged sadly to the nearest bathroom, passed two extremely self-conscious and awkward brothers, shoved his head under the facet, and cowered in defeat.

This was absolutely insane! Unheard of! Gippal the Almighty never lost!

Scrubbing away the sauce, the Al Bhed glowered. He'd had enough. No more was Baralai gonna make a fool of him; he would be tolerant no longer. Oh, he'd show them. Oh yes. He'd make the praetor wish he'd never chosen to mess with him in the first place.

Gippal continued his cheesy train of thought, rubbing his face so furiously that it was pink, and only after he realized that it was aching like hell did he stop his murderous trend. Peeking up through his now frazzled array of hair, the Al Bhed nearly fainted at his balloon-like expression.

Okay, he'd show them after he got his facial features, hair gel, and cool demeanor back. Yes. That'd be the plan.

Leaning against the bathroom wall, he waited… and waited… and waited… and looked in the mirror to note that the majority of his face was _still_ raw and red. Cursing, he stalked over to the toilet, pulled down the lid, and sat on it, and god was he tired… Five minutes later found him nearly nodding off to sleep.

After sliding off the toilet into a crumpled, snoring lump on the floor, the blond jerked up, blinked at his surroundings, before jumping back to his feet and gazing at himself in the mirror. Well, wasn't that better?

Running his hand through his hair to knot out a few minor tangles by his previous intimacy with the bathroom floor (the ground had _better_ be clean, or he'd have a bone to pick with the praetor), he adjusted his sideburn clips before flattening out his shirt, straightening his back, and waltzed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen with a new air of superiority and arrogance about him. He was fresh, rejuvenated, and ready.

"Huh. You're back," Baralai muttered bemused as Gippal re-entered the kitchen. Maroda and Pacce had begun a new string of arguments in the corner. "We thought you'd either fallen into the toilet or killed yourself out of shame."

Gippal sneered at the praetor as the blond placed himself back into his usual spot against the counter. The white-haired man smiled faintly at him. "You've had enough to eat yet?" he asked carefully, a gleam in his eye, as he grabbed the used paper plates and made to throw them away.

"No, not yet. Hope you don't mind starting another batch?" the blond replied just as fluidly.

The praetor shrugged. "No prob. But I'll be very disappointed if you don't finish it." He headed for the trashcan behind the smirking Al Bhed.

Jackpot.

As the other brushed past him, gaze lingering on his face, Gippal cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. Baralai noticed seconds too late that his companion was still just as determined, if not more so; when he finally did catch the unaccustomed gleam in Gippal's eye, he was already pinned between said Al Bhed's hips and the counter behind him.

Oh Yevon. Not good.

The praetor swallowed, knowing how oblivious Gippal still was to his feelings and to how their positions were currently affecting him. He hadn't minded their previous little games; he'd always been in control then. But now it was Gippal who had chosen to get close. Too close. Scooting his waist backwards (he didn't exactly want someone to get in the way in case a surprise appearance was made), his attempts to get his entire body out from under the horribly nice and warm figure were cut short when Gippal tilted his chin up with a finger and proceeded to kiss the daylights out of him.

Somewhere in the back of his brain, a warning sign went off.

Shock was pulsing through him. No, not pulsing. More like punching his skull, rapping his chest and skewering his guts. The kiss was long and slow and… oh dear god. He nearly fainted at the sudden probing of a curious tongue, pressing past his slightly parted lips and teasing every inch of his mouth. His eyes slowly slid shut, the plates were dumped onto the floor, his hands had found purchase in the folds of Gippal's shirt, and everything was perfect for one blissful moment.

He hadn't known it was even humanly possible for one to kiss like that. Then again, it wasn't that surprising once he thought about it. This was Gippal he was talking about. The ladies man that had always been too far from his league. He supposed endless outings with whores did come with a reward after all.

There was almost no awkwardness at all. It almost made him believe that Gippal kissed guys everyday. And if he did, the men he did it with were going to get hurt.

And why in the world was he thinking about things like this when he was currently playing tonsil hockey with the person he'd been obsessed with for years?

Way to ruin a moment.

He pushed back sharply and Gippal's small grunt of surprise muffled against his lips. The blond hesitated slightly before pulling him even closer, if still possible, and kissing just as roughly back, not being one to lose against anything. Baralai nearly collapsed as a result, winding his fingers tightly in the other's shirt. Suddenly, nothing mattered to him anymore. Yevon, he could have died right there and been completely happy.

It was like a piece of heaven.

He was brought back to life when the Al Bhed slowly pulled away, sucking gently on the other's bottom lip. Baralai swallowed, having momentarily forgotten the sweet substance of air, languidly opening his eyes to see a slightly flushed yet smirking blond.

His currently mood was completely shattered when Gippal finally spoke and murmured, "That seemed like a ten-pointer to me. Gippal twenty, Baralai ten. Though I have to admit, your act was pretty impressive too."

Jerking back, the praetor was suddenly horribly embarrassed, reminding him over and over again that the kiss was not supposed to happen, that he wasn't supposed to feel, and that it was all fake. Fake. Gippal had kissed him out of a stupid contest. Gippal had come to him for a stupid favor. And yet, knowing all of this, he had been made the complete fool by practically melting onto the Al Bhed. Who felt almost absolutely nothing for him love-wise. Disgusting. Glaring at the blond's now annoyingly (yet still maddeningly sexy — why, dammit?) smirk, he had to bite his lip in order to refrain from punching it off.

He'd get it off another way.

Darting out his hand towards a certain faintly, protruding lump, he clasped his fist around it, twisted, and yanked hard. His handiwork was followed by a harsh protruding knee. Feeling satisfied, his victory was fueled even more when the Al Bhed shrieked, jerked backwards, and collapsed onto the floor in a loud and heavy thump, where he proceeded to clutch himself and roll around in agony, crying, "You've killed me!" and "Oh god! I'm dying! Dying!"

Crouching down next to the writhing blond, Baralai smiled innocently and patted the injured body part. The meant-to-be-helpful action merely caused Gippal to scoot further away, grasping his crotch as if his life depended on it. The praetor laughed softly.

"Gippal twenty, Baralai one hundred. I win."

Sputtering noises of shock were issued behind them from two dumbstruck brothers.

Rage bubbling up within him, Gippal glared at his smiling companion through his mass of blond hair, flashes of pain flaring up wildly inside him. God, was this embarrassing. He attempted to stand up, straining his abused member ever more, and gave up, leaning against the counter and twitching violently.

Despite the blindingly scorching pain, however, he was slightly thankful of what Baralai had done. Sure, it hurt like hell, but it took his mind off other awkward matters.

Because after he had pulled away, he had found himself wanting more.

And that hadn't been planned on his "hostile take over".

* * *

It was around ten at night when Baralai realized he had forgotten something.

Lugging the wooden desk up over the final few steps, Gippal collapsed and sprawled onto the carpet floor, rasping for air and sounding like a chipmunk on helium. Next to him, Baralai sat down and rubbed his temples, wiping the perspiration off his brow as he gazed down at the stairs they had come up. Crossing his eyes at an irritable strand, he blew it out of his face.

"D-damn…" the blond gasped. "How many steps are there?"

"Twenty-six," Baralai replied curtly.

"… Rhetorical question, 'Lai."

"Right."

"Aw hell. I'm not gonna be able to move for a week," Gippal muttered, attempting to push himself upright and failing miserably. "Damn those two for leaving."

The praetor raised an eyebrow. "Those two?"

"Maroda and Pacce. Leaving instead of lugging up this friggin' desk themselves."

Baralai laughed. "That would be cruel. They're only volunteers."

"And yet forcing me to work isn't cruel?"

"Of course not. It's a profit." Baralai smiled sweetly at him.

"Why do you need a desk in your bedroom anyway?" the blond questioned, abruptly changing the subject as he struggled into a sitting position once more. Baralai took pity on him and helped him up. "Wha— oh, thanks… where was I? Oh yeah. Your study is only like… half a mile away."

"You make a very nice argument, but I'm gonna have to stick with my original plan," the praetor replied smiling. After listening to several minutes of Gippal's sputtering and conversations to himself in Al Bhed, Baralai sighed. A small smile flitted across his face as his mind settled on a new topic to discuss. "How's that injury coming along? I didn't leave you incompetent or anything, did I?"

"Ha ha." The two syllables were laid thick with sarcasm. "You'd better be happy I'm okay, otherwise you'd be dead by now. And it wasn't funny."

"_I _found it terribly amusing."

"That's 'cause you're a sadistic bastard."

"Why, thank you, I'm flattered."

Gippal growled. Not a nice memory, especially after he thought of all the torture his poor, innocent manhood had suffered. A dull ache was still pulsing through his groin. Ugh. Though thinking back also onto the strange urge to grab the praetor again and kiss him senseless again, he supposed the pain would have to do. Pulling himself to his feet (which took a surprising amount of effort), he leaned on the desk as his knees slowly stopped their trembling. "We moving this desk or what?" he grumbled, attempting to strike a flashy and indifferent pose only to lose his grip on the desk and trip over himself. Baralai coughed, watching the other's odd stumbling motions and curses before he righted himself.

"Only waiting for you to catch your breath, o' mighty Alpha."

"Shut up."

They managed to somehow drag the piece of furniture into Baralai's master bedroom without anyone dying, collapsing, falling into a coma, or Gippal finally cracking and shredding the desk into dust with his nails. Not really caring anymore if he scratched up the praetor's nicely polished walls and floor, the blond shoved the damnable thing as far away from him as possible, grinning maniacally when it was finally out of the way. His joy was overruled when he realized he had pushed the item into the opposite corner Baralai had planned for it to go.

God dammit.

After the two of them finally got everything nice and organized, the blond tottered over to the nearest piece of comfortable-looking furniture (which happened to be Baralai's obscenely large bed) and indulged himself within it, making a nice, crumpled nest of covers for himself and then burying his body in as deeply as it would go. He was never getting up again. Mmm… warmth… sleep…

And that scent…. So familiar…

He buried his nose in deeper, sniffing. Like vanilla. Like Baralai. Damn was it surprisingly addicting…

His stupor was interrupted by said praetor whacking him sharply upside the head with a pillow. Gippal grunted, having found a new favorite haven in Baralai's house.

"Hey, my bed," the white-haired man murmured softly, gently shaking the Al Bhed's shoulder when the other refused to move. The blond twitched and began to ever-so-convincingly emit loud and ground-shaking snores. The praetor rolled his eyes, catching the small, playful grin that the blond hid a moment too late.

"The point of Maroda and me dragging a mattress up into the next room this morning is for you to sleep in it."

A mumble and a wave of the hand. "Gimme a minute…"

Baralai rubbed his temples. Since when was he babysitting again? "Why not just skip the minute to get to your own bed and spend the rest of the night sleeping instead?" he pressed, sitting down on the end of the mattress. Though he didn't want to admit it, his body was taking the toll of his previous tedious activities as well.

Gippal slowly raised his head. "Wait… it's nighttime already?"

The praetor smacked the blond's face with a pillow again.

Spitting feathers from his mouth, the Al Bhed sluggishly pushed himself up onto his elbows and gazed around for a time source. Eyes locking onto a digital clock perched neatly on a nearby table, he twitched, rubbed his eyes, and stared again. 10:55.

Wow. That had been fast.

Gazing at the clock as he recounted the hours, he started when a pair of hands pushed him roughly sideways. Caught off guard, the Al Bhed let out a surprised curse and toppled over onto his back, rolled over a bit more, and fell completely off the bed with a loud thump.

"Oops…" came a light voice from somewhere above him. Gippal snarled.

The praetor was about to help him up when a strange ring chose that exact moment to echo through the house. Silence quickly followed the odd sound.

"Please tell me that's not how your doorbell sounds," the Al Bhed muttered dryly. "It's like a demented chocobo. On choco-crack."

Baralai smiled rather painfully. Jerking back up again, he hesitated before getting off the bed and walking out the door. At the threshold, he paused and turned around. "When I'm back you, you'd better be in your proper room, or you just might find yourself permanently sexually disabled this time," he chided warningly.

Gippal rolled his eyes, though slightly warily. "Yes mother."

The praetor grinned faintly, waving his finger, before he turned and disappeared out of sight.

Feeling rather abandoned on his spot on the floor, Gippal humphed.

Pulling himself to his feet, he bent down to retrieve the item he had knocked over. Running his hand over the smooth wood, he flipped it over and found himself staring at a picture of Baralai, Nooj, Paine, and himself, laughing and lounging in what looked like the sands of Bikanel. For a moment, he wondered who had taken the snapshot. The four of them (three, really, considering Nooj was upright and trying hard to ignore his surroundings) were seemingly too indulged in a sand fight to notice those around them. He supposed some random passerby had taken the picture and had been tracked down by the praetor or something… or the praetor had paid a random passerby to take the picture. It was one of those two. Shaking his head, he focused back onto the photo. The blond's eyes softened for a moment. Those had been the days.

The four of them had been so happy then, not a care in the world. Well, okay, so Nooj hadn't changed much, Gippal noted as he stared at the stoic figure in the picture, but he had given up his determination for death. So he supposed that was something. Baralai was a lot more open, and Gippal himself… well, he thought he'd matured a bit, but for some odd reason, no one ever believed him…

Actually, now that he thought more about it, the four of them hadn't really changed at all. They were separated, yes, with new responsibilities and priorities, but there was nothing time couldn't fix. If a name was really necessary, then he'd have to say that the one who had differed the most would be Paine, but she was slowly becoming her old self again, possibly more wry and indifferent than before.

He smiled faintly, putting the frame back onto its proper position. Another piece of neatly folded paper fluttered out from one of its corners, most likely dislodged from its unruly fall from the table by his elbow. Curious, the Al Bhed bent to retrieve it.

Fanning out the paper, he realized by its texture that it was another photo. Turning it over, he blinked. It was another picture of Baralai, though there was another man, strangely familiar, in the shot as well. He was clothed in a rich robe of blues and greens, with deep-set eyes, a smooth face, and a messy yet elegant mahogany ponytail. The two of them were standing comfortably next to each other, the brown-haired man's arm draped casually around the praetor's shoulder. The date on the bottom proved that the photo was taken around a month ago.

Huh.

Without warning, a sudden foreign sensation bubbled up in his chest. The Al Bhed almost jumped in surprise. Confused and slightly perturbed, he swallowed and breathed in until the sensation cooled. It didn't disappear completely though, rising up every once in a while as he stared back at the photo.

Odd. The abrupt emotion was something he rarely experienced before, though he had enough times to know what it was. But it didn't make any sense.

No. No sense at all. For Gippal was in no way whatsoever jealous.

He couldn't be.

Frowning, the blond turned back to the picture once more, and to the Mystery Man. Gippal rapped his head. The guy was so horribly familiar, like he'd seen him somewhere on the news or something, but had never exactly met him in person. Groaning, he strained his memory, and was shaken out of his reservoir by a pair of low whispers down below, followed by a deep, unfamiliar laugh and the click of a door. Seconds later, footsteps began to make their way up the stairs.

Remembering the praetor's joked warning (Gippal wasn't taking chances though), the Al Bhed threw the covers back as neatly and quickly as he could back on the bed, folded up the photo, and put it back into the frame before shoving his hands in his pockets, feeling surprisingly guilty. Like he had trespassed or something. The picture _had_ been hidden; considering Baralai was rarely secretive unless it was absolutely necessary, he didn't think the praetor really wanted others to know or see it.

But it wasn't like it was his fault though; it had fallen out of its own accord. So there.

He walked out of the door just as Baralai appeared from the stairs, musing to himself as he counted off his fingers, eyes slightly distant. Gippal smiled faintly.

"So… who was that?" the blond questioned. "Some midnight admirer?"

The white-haired man blinked, coming to a halt at the top of the stairs. Turning, his eyes rested onto Gippal, who waved just in case the praetor didn't see him, who scoffed. "No, I don't think so. The infatuation has worn off."

Gippal stroked his chin, smirking. "Or has it? Bevelle women are rather touchy, you know."

Baralai chuckled softly. "No, I'm sure he's not like that."

"Ah."

It took several moments for Gippal to realize that the other had said "he".

"Wait — What?" he sputtered, but by that time Baralai had already disappeared into his room, smiled, waved, and closed the door, leaving Gippal surprised and confused in the hallway, alone to run over his thoughts.

Well then…

Shaking his head, the blond decided that he had had enough for one day.

After he was finally on top of a large and shockingly comfortable mattress and under a pile of blankets did the Al Bhed finally relax, hissing at several knots in his back. Rubbing at them slightly impatiently, he sighed and shut his eyes. Nothing a nice long sleep couldn't fix.

It was only until minutes before he finally did fall asleep that Gippal realized he had yet to fully talk to Baralai.

And there were only six days left, five if the final Dreaded Day of the Date with Devon wasn't counted.

He'd have to do it tomorrow. No excuses.

* * *

(1) Nothing against Baralai, I swear. Just looking at it from Gippal's point of view. 


	4. Phase Three

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X-2, or any Final Fantasy game whatsoever. Sadly, SquareEnix has the credit and the money while I have nothing but dirty socks.

Warning: Yaoi, possible yuri, sexual themes and horrible humor. You have been warned…

Thanks to Kimi for being my beta-reader.

A/N: Wow. I'm alive. Surprising, huh?

Sorry about the horrendous delay! My excuse? Finals. Yeah. And even if none of you bought that, they're over, so hopefully updates will go by faster now, seeing as it's summer break and I, being the loser that I am, have nothing else to do. I'm tempted to put in a date for the next chapter, though I don't think I will; there's a large chance that it might take a few more weeks. No point in raising spirits and then crushing them, right? Though that _can_ be fun occasionally…

Well, I've finally gotten this chapter out and written. This is the turning point, people! Yeah, another reason it was so difficult to write was because of Gippal's now more positive emotions… well, wait. You'll see.

Anyhoo, thanks loads to the people who've reviewed, and especially those who reviewed for every chapter I've put out so far. It really means a lot to me; they were wonderful. Hopefully all of you will enjoy this chapter, seeing as it took me ages to write. Feel free to drop a review, seeing as I'm a sucker for them. Constructive criticism is welcome.

**Please read: **Oh, and hopefully you all will take some time to refer to the second footnote on the bottom — I'm counting on you guys to give me some opinions!

* * *

**The Art of Deception**  
Natsue Arishima

**Phase Three: Initiating the Sham**

Gippal woke suddenly the next morning with two very clear, alarming, and totally irrelevant thoughts in his mind. One; that his body felt like every inch of it was being stabbed by white-hot knives and would most likely hurt for the rest of the week, and two; he had really liked kissing Baralai. And seeing as he wasn't supposed to like kissing a certain silver-haired praetor, or even men in general, the second conclusion positively frightened him. No, 'frightened' was an understatement. He was terrified.

So it was quite understandable when the blond jerked up, stared wildly around the room, charged into the bathroom he had not noticed before in a second flat, and slammed the door behind him. Add the sounds of splashing water, retching, and curses, and five minutes later, the Al Bhed stepped back over the threshold as if nothing had happened, lazily making his way back to his mattress and collapsing on top of it with a disjointed grunt.

After tossing and turning for five minutes, Gippal realized that he just couldn't get _it_ out of his head.

He could blame it on nothing else except for the fact that perhaps not getting laid for four days had somehow mussed up all the hormones and chemicals and crap that determined a person's sexuality. Yes, that was it. Simple, really. Yet, even with that reassuring thought in mind, his body refused to let him go back to sleep.

After physically pounding his head and still unable to get the sensation of Baralai's lips out of his mind (so n — wait… no! Must… fight… the evil…) the blond gave up and grabbed his eye patch, snapping it on sharply. The sting sent him into a momentary daze, of which he was shaken out of when he caught his foot in the bedsheets, twisted his ankle, and crashed sideways onto the floor. Muttering curses, the blond jerked up and stomped towards a silken curtain, yanking them open irritably and nearly shrieking at the sudden light that assaulted his eyes. Sunlight bad, artificial light good… and with a hiss he retreated from the window like a nighttime creature experiencing its first magical and horrid glimpse of day.

Yes, Gippal was now one-hundred percent awake and not liking a single moment of it.

Cowering under his blanket and squinting so fiercely that the only clear figures he could make out were the shapes of his eyelashes, the Al Bhed glanced towards the window again before shutting his eyes tightly. Judging from the sun's position against the darkness of his eyelids, it was most likely around eight.

Eight, and he was horribly awake.

Gippal never woke up at eight.

It was _blasphemous_.

Five minutes later, he had somehow forced himself back to sleep, so that by the time the praetor came up later at around noon, the silver-haired youth had to literally sit on the other in order to wake him up (throwing pillows and water spells had no effect whatsoever). The blond had no recollection whatsoever of his previous thoughts and actions; he was too intent on the lovely silver-haired "girl" on top of him to bother with them anyway, eyes drowsy with sleep.

"Why, hello there," he purred. Baralai blinked.

Grope.

Squeak. Shriek. Slap.

That was really all it took to get him up and awake again.

The force of Baralai's open-palmed smack sent him skidding off his collection of blankets and into the wall, adding a new set of bruises to his other ones from the night before. Swearing rather loudly while rubbing the hand-shaped welt on his cheek, the Al Bhed jerked his head up, glaring sharply between limp blond strands at a sheepish-looking praetor sitting innocently on his mattress.

Damn Bevellians…

"Sorry. Hand slipped," Baralai explained, grinning nervously.

Seeing the venomous look in a livid, blue eye, the praetor decided he'd done enough in this room, springing up and dashing out the door. He was about to shut it when it blasted open again, Gippal towering murderously above him like Sin crawling out of smoke.

The horror.

"You call this a 'slip'?" the blond shrieked indignantly, pointing to his new, bulbous facial features. "You sent me flying into the wall! You call that a simple 'SLIP'?" His anger momentarily subsided as he awkwardly cradled his cheek. "My poor face…"

"Now now, Gippal, it was just an little accident."

"Accident my ass! And don't you go start talking to me like I'm a stupid two-year-old!"

"Hey, it was self-defense, alright?"

"Bah!"

"Besides, you had no right to grope me!"

Baralai watched, surprised and curious as Gippal sputtered, blinked, and finally seemed to understand what he was talking about, promptly giving a new definition to the expression 'red as an apple.' Sighing softly and unable to conceal his smile, the praetor shook his head and flicked imaginary lint from the blond's shoulder. "What's this, a blush I see?" he teased. He'd forgotten how adorable the other could be, seeing how the blond was usually either screaming or chasing after some random girl like a rabid animal.

Glaring to one side, the Al Bhed huffed. "Why were you in my room anyway?"

"One night and you're already claiming this room as your own? A bit rash, don't you think?" Cocking his head to a side, Baralai crossed his arms. "I thought you'd be interested in breakfast. Well, wait…" He checked his watch. "Correction, lunch. I left some extra downstairs in the kitchen."

The blond perked up at the mention of food.

"But if you insist on your beauty sleep, I guess I'll just finish it up myself," the silver-haired man continued listlessly, turning and walking slowly down the hall with a smile. As if Gippal would ever be able to resist food. The smile turned into a soft laugh as his pace turned into that of a light jog, before it turned into an all-out sprint as Gippal dashed out behind him.

"Too slow, praetor," the blond called out snarkily, flashing his companion a victory-V as he zoomed by. "Not like I forgive you or anything, though if the food's good, I'll make exceptions." The Al Bhed turned sharply at the stairs, jumped onto the banister, and slid down its length, dismounting with alarming skill and grace at the bottom before skidding around and skating down the hallway on top of a Persian rug.

Behind him, Baralai chuckled and shook his head, watching the Al Bhed charge into the kitchen in nothing but his boxers. He decided to not reveal the fact that there were already movers in the house.

* * *

After arriving to a kitchen full of large, bulky and bored-looking men, Gippal had spun around on his heel with all his previous fierce determination and streamed back down the hall, passed a grinning Baralai, rampaged up the stairs, and zoomed back into his room. Today was _definitely_ not his day. Then again, thinking back over his most recent memories, the past four days hadn't really been a ball either. And considering the constant and continuous trend, it was likely that this week, too, would prove to be terrifying. 

Why him? Of all people, why did it have to be him? Someone else should have to suffer through addicted fans; through devil girls; through passing as gay; through rampaging into a room full of massive men clothed in nothing but underwear… They could have at least been women. Even demented monkeys would have been better, but _no_, they just _had_ to have been big, unintelligent beings whose only infatuations were with pieces of furniture.

Okay, so normally he wouldn't have really minded that much, but for some strange reason, the fact that he was _supposed_ to be gay for a week had somehow raised his self-consciousness around men. And besides, the movers had been scary-looking.

Sighing, he blinked blearily around the room. Screw dramatizing; he needed to change. Dropping onto his mattress, he spotted his bag and frowned. His head swiveled back to the bathroom door, glimpsing a marble sink and the glint of glass from a shower door.

Scratch that. He needed a shower.

He stripped off his… only article of clothing… and dumped it onto the ground as he proceeded towards the door. The bathroom itself wasn't as impressive as Baralai's (then again, it _had_ been the master's bedroom) though it was large and spacious enough to satisfy his desperate needs. Locating the towels, he grabbed one and dropped it on top of the toilet lid along with his eye patch, marched over to the shower, stepped inside, and turned the water on, closing the sliding door behind him.

His bad luck struck once again when the moderately warm water instantly increased to a killer temperature. Yelping, he jumped forward, nearly smacked his face into the wall on account of losing his balance on the wet floor, and groped wildly for the knob, the non-burnt part of his brain registering the sensation of cool metal under his fingers with happy detachment. He twisted it sharply, and when the water continued to assault him with no change in heat, he gave up completely and slammed his fist against the protruding and dysfunctional object, bruising his hand but effectively stopping the flow of water all the same, which ended with a quiet hiss.

Sighing, he relaxed. Well hadn't that been ever so enjoyable. There was nothing better than a scalding hot shower at degrees capable of burning fingers off.

There was a muffled shout downstairs, and from what little snatches of conversation he caught, the blond realized that either by a wrestling match or drunken impulse to ballroom dance, a person or persons had hit one of the sinks, bent the tap, and ruptured a water pipe.

Joy. Of all bizarre and deranged things…

Tentatively, he turned on the water again, wincing as he inched out his hand, waiting for the burn, the heat… and was greeted with blissfully cool water. He almost melted in relief.

Thirty minutes later (he would have gone on longer, too, had he not considered and pitied the large bill Baralai would have been receiving at the end of the month if he had continued), Gippal turned off the shower, grabbed his towel, and began drying himself off. Feeling slightly better and with a clearer mind, he began his morning ritual once again, brushing his teeth, scrubbing his face, and preening and pampering his face for a full ten minutes.

Flamboyancy now content, he did a double take, winked at his expression, and then strolled out of the bathroom with the towel hanging loosely from his hips, whistling the tune of Spira's top hit, "1000 Words", which in itself was rather ironic, seeing as how Yuna had given the world premiere to a group of people who had no idea what was going on in the first place.

His warbling trailed off into silence as he blinked at his guest.

Staring out the window with a rather bored expression on his face was Baralai, twirling a strand of hair nonchalantly around a finger.

The praetor turned when Gippal's last few notes died off completely, raising an eyebrow at the faltering blond. "What? And here I was, thinking you'd finish your little ditty." He brushed a strand of silver hair out of his eyes, sending a wry grin at his companion. "You were two keys off, by the way."

Regaining his ability to talk, the Al Bhed jerked back, nearly sending his towel to the floor in the process (the praetor coughed and tried to look uninterested). "Wha — how long have you been here anyway?" His eyes narrowed.

"Since you began primping yourself, humble fop."

The blond blinked again before smirking. "Nothing comes without a price, you know," he replied smoothly, running a hand through his hair as he winked at his companion. "How else do you think I got this good looking? Work! I mean, what else is there?"

"Plastic surgery?" the praetor offered dryly.

"…"

There was a rustle behind him as Gippal finished the final touches to his garb. Giving the blond several more seconds (Baralai wasn't too keen on turning around to see a half naked Al Bhed; he wasn't sure what he'd do as a result, probably either scream and run out or lunge and never let go), the praetor shut his eyes as he pulled himself out of his previous thoughts.

"Right." Behind him, the blond cleared his throat, retrieving a brush from his bag and running it through his hair. Baralai turned and watched as Gippal carefully fastened his usual small clips onto his sideburns. The action was done in such a fluent manner that almost surprised the praetor; since when was Gippal graceful with anything? (Women, maybe, and machina, but that was it…) "So?" the blond prompted after running the brush once more through his hair. "Did you want anything?"

Pulling his eyes away from golden sideburns, Baralai smiled faintly. "What, do I need an excuse to walk into a room in my own house?"

"Well, if you put it that way…"

The praetor rolled his eyes. "I actually brought some food up here, seeing as you were kept from yours by an… untimely disturbance." He nodded towards a plate perched evenly on top of Gippal's mattress.

Turning to eye it, the blond grinned. "Aw, aren't you the perfect little housewife? You wanna do my hair for me too?" he cooed. Baralai literally bristled at the statement.

"Watch it," he murmured dangerously. "I'm in very nice slapping range right now."

The Al Bhed laughed, plopping onto the ground and digging into his omelet. Baralai remained by the window for a while more, watching the other eat with a comfortable detachment, until said other patted the ground besides him, leaving the praetor no choice, but to sit down besides him as well, which he did after a moment's thought. The room soon settled with friendly silence.

Registering the soft press of eyes against his head, Gippal paused in his small meal and looked up to see the praetor staring at him, though considering his slightly distant expression, probably not really seeing him either. The blond shook his head. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly wondering whether or not Baralai really slept at night. He seemed like one of those worrywarts who never rested at all. One of those forever-awake people.

He shook his head, all of a sudden feeling pity he was sure wasn't needed.

Baralai's blank gaze had dropped to the plate, eyes clouded with thought.

"What, you hungry too?" the Al Bhed teased, waving his hand in front of Baralai's face and effectively shaking the praetor out of his daze, who blinked, blushed (or so the blond assumed, seeing as it was almost impossible to distinguish any change in color from such a dark face) and turned away.

Gippal raised his eyebrows.

Baralai ignored him, picking at his fingernails.

"Well, seeing as you brought it up to me in the first place…" the Al Bhed muttered before grinning and forking up some of the food. He held it out to the praetor. "Here."

His eyes resting on the offending piece of egg, Baralai swallowed, unsure on how to react: either eat it or reject it. He picked the latter, and narrowing his eyes, stated flatly, "I'm not hungry." When the fork didn't waver, and when Gippal continued to gaze at him unblinkingly with that same annoying yet horribly nice smile, the praetor hesitated before leaning forward. Seeing no faltering within his companion's posture, Baralai paused before taking the portion of omelet carefully off the fork with his teeth, taking care to touch the piece of silverware as little as possible.

He pulled back cautiously and the fork retreated as well, diving back into the plate's contents before being raised back to the blond's own mouth. Baralai twitched. Gippal was so unpredictable sometimes, he mused to himself, chewing thoughtfully.

Maybe Gippal didn't know it himself, but many of the blond's unconscious actions were… well… Baralai refused to use the word "gay" as a description. More like… open. Yes. Open. Today wasn't exactly a first either; two years ago, Baralai had noticed it as well, which was perhaps the reason he had begun liking the other in the first place, hoping that maybe he actually had a chance. Though this chance had usually eroded away when the blond zoned in seconds later and thought over his actions, limiting them to women, and women only. Which had always left the praetor-to-be feeling dumb and unreasonably angry, so angry in fact that he had knocked out one out of every five dates that the blond picked up (accidentally, of course).

A curious man, that Gippal.

The following minutes passed in silence, the blond filling his stomach, the silver-haired man deep in thought with his eyes closed, arms crossed. The two of them were dimly aware of the scuffle of voices below, the dull strain of wood on wood as the movers continued their monotonous work.

There was a light clink as Gippal finally set down his fork, plate polished to a shine. He stretched loudly, rubbed his arm, and leaned onto his side, elbow on the mattress and head on his palm, as he examined the praetor, debated with himself, and cleared his throat expectantly. Best get things cleared out now. There was no better time for it.

"Hey, 'Lai?"

Eyelids fluttered open, dark lashes hiding bronze eyes.

"Hmm?" the silver-haired man replied lazily, reaching forward and flicking off a piece of egg from the corner of Gippal's mouth, who made a face. Baralai smiled innocently.

Wiping his mouth with his own hand, just in case any other egg specks remained, before scratching his eye patch, the Al Bhed continued his verbal train of thought. "We haven't finished our talk yet."

Though he didn't specify what he was thinking of, Baralai knew what he was talking about instantly.

"Ah," he said lightly. "_That_."

"You make it sound like death or something…"

The praetor grinned, shifting to rest his back against the mattress. Out of range from Gippal's vision, his smile dropped. _That_. Their guidelines, their rules. Over Gippal's favor in order to keep Devon forever out of his life. Not death, exactly, but it was still painful, and still held a grudge.

"Anyway," the blond continued matter-of-factly, leaning back and resting his head on his arms. He didn't catch the sudden stiffness of Baralai's figure. "Be serious, alright? We really need to do this, otherwise we won't have a chance, and then I'll be screwed over for who knows how long."

Baralai scoffed. _I'll be screwed over for an eternity as well_… Even with yesterday, with that one kiss. That one fake kiss. He had almost murdered Gippal right then and there. And that had been only with _one little fake kiss_. Imagine what a week would do…

Stop it. He shook his head. It's for Gippal, he reminded himself. There was no time to do this now; no time to doubt.

He'd just try to enjoy it while it lasted (hey, there was no law against it), and though it might still hurt in the long run, he knew it wouldn't be that hard to do. Damn hormones. Sighing, he turned and raised a hand towards the other, motioning with a finger for him to come closer. Gippal cocked his head to one side, edging closer at the seriousness in the praetor's eyes, who opened his mouth, paused, and flicked the blond sharply on the head.

The blond jerked back in surprise, ushering a small yelp as he rubbed the small welt on his forehead. "That was cruel, man! Getting me all wound up like that and then, wham! Too cruel…"

Baralai smiled sweetly, not in the least bit regretting his last move. "Tell me again why I'm helping you. For free, too."

The blond glanced warily at him. "Because you're _such_ a good friend. And besides, I'm tight on money right now."

"Yeah right. The day Pacce turns into a girl, maybe."

Gippal grinned. "Pretty close off then, isn't it?" He dodged a swipe from the praetor. "Okay, to start off, if you ever consider like you don't feel like continuing, just tell me about it, hear? I don't want to make you get all touchy and sentimental; that's just plain unnatural."

"You've been practicing this, haven't you?"

"Yeah, a little. You could tell? Damn. I slurred it, didn't I?"

"It wasn't horrible. A little slurred, a little rushed, but not bad. Though perhaps next time you should consider leaving out the big words. You know, the ones with more than one syllable. It kind of gave you away."

Gippal stuck out his tongue.

"Two," he growled, "we have to get more used to each other. You know, not just friend stuff. It's gotta be convincing, right? So we've got to act like, well, a couple. We have to talk right, look right, touch right, and kiss right." Gippal paused and turned ever so slightly to his companion, surprised at how odd it felt to be saying things this plainly to his weeklong partner-to-be. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Baralai's eyebrow go up in its typical raise. Licking his lips, the blond pondered on how to continue. Fortunately for him, Baralai unknowingly made things easier by bringing up the topic himself.

"One, you've already told me all of this. And two, you make it sound like we're going to be practicing," the praetor mused, gazing at the ceiling nonchalantly.

Gippal swallowed.

Silence.

"We're not going to be practicing, are we?"

More silence.

"We are, aren't we," the praetor muttered dryly, shooting the blond a dirty glare.

Gippal grinned at him, albeit weakly. "What else can we do?" the Al Bhed asked quietly, surprised he wasn't melting under such a venomous scowl.

Baralai bit his lip before sighing, turning back to his fingernails and acting unconcerned, though inside, he was seething. What had he gotten himself into? Kissing with Gippal? Even more, _practicing?_ There'd be hugging and touching too, he'd bet. This was absolutely absurd! Not even Pacce's odd request for monkeys had been this odd.

"Only for a little bit. Besides, not like practices, really, just acting and squeezing in as much as possible so we'll be used to it once Sunday hits. It's not going to be, like, little practice sections, just… you know…" the blond added hastily as he spotted the array of emotions in the praetor's eyes. "Just a week, Baralai, please? I'll never ask anything of you again. Just this once."

Baralai scoffed softly, turning to look the blond straight in the eye. "I didn't say I was backing out, did I?" His companion blinked before breaking out into a dazzling grin. "Thanks, 'Lai," the blond replied, honestly and truthfully.

Propping himself onto his elbows once more, the blond ushered Baralai closer before informing him of his plans for Sunday. The praetor listened with rapt attention and slight doubt, though in the end gave up his questions and protests for his trust for Gippal, since, although it had wavered occasionally in the past (mostly over the matter of women), this was a time where he knew that it was all he had to rely on. Sure, Gippal hadn't been exactly honest that one time in Kilika, and sure, he hadn't exactly gone chocobo hunting during that incident in the Calm Lands, and he hadn't been one hundred percent clear for that one time one year one place, but when the blond was serious, his word was law.

And Gippal sure as Yevon was serious now.

It was alarming, how absurd and out of place it all seemed. Half the time, Baralai half expected himself to wake up, to pull away from this bizarre, incoherent, and completely random dream. But when a break finally did come, it wasn't from himself blissfully awakening; merely the dull throb of the doorbell below them, followed by heavy footsteps, a click of doors opening, and the beginning of what he assumed were the movers' ritual of welcome, with grunts, punches, chest-thumping, and all.

Shaking his head slightly, the praetor pulled back, Gippal sending him one last intense glance before his eyes darted towards the (open… dear god, had he stripped with it _open_?) door and down the hallway. The two of them remained silent for several seconds until it was clear that Baralai's new visitor had no intention to march up the stairs.

Standing up and stretching slightly, Gippal strode over to the hallway, peeking out and around just in case. He couldn't believe they had just revealed their plan (not to mention his body) to the entire world; how the hell had he not seen the open door, wide and ajar and practically screaming for attention? Hell, it was like overlooking a naked, sexy model. Slapping himself on the forehead (and struck with a sudden image of previously mentioned model), he gave himself several seconds to daydream before shutting the door and returning back to his mattress.

Baralai raised both eyebrows, letting the atmosphere settle once more before voicing the one question that was bothering him: "Are you positive that this'll work?"

Gippal looked at him as if he had just sprouted antlers. "Uh, duh." He shook his head, letting out a small sigh. "There's a hundred percent guarantee. Are you still doubting it, even with my wits on your side?"

"That's what I'm afraid of," the praetor mused dryly.

"What's that?" the blond asked, scratching his ear.

"I said excellent plan-out."

"I know. Isn't it?" The Al Bhed leaned back, narrowly avoiding a backside of scrambled egg. Baralai coughed, rolling his eyes. "So for such a faultless plan, when are we starting these practices, exactly?" he asked sarcastically.

"I was planning now, if you didn't mind. And they're not practices."

Baralai's eyes widened in horror. So much for a rhetorical question…

* * *

Swallowing back faint surprise, the ex-summoner of Bevelle gazed around and down Baralai's bare hallway, and the heavy clumps of men it possessed. Coughing faintly, and feigning mute happiness as said men turned and grunted at him, he held up his hands and stepped backwards slightly, a strained smile on his face. Behind him, Maroda raised an eyebrow and Pacce cocked his head, darting out behind his two brothers in attempts to see what was going on and unfortunately running smack into a chiseled wal — man, resulting in heavy back pats and mumbles of greeting. 

The summoner rubbed his temples before resting his head on his hand. In his time, movers had been slow enough. Nowadays, it seemed their brains had been reduced to specks. (1)

Stepping back over the threshold with a rustle of robes, Isaaru waited for the sudden action to subside before turning to ask a nearby man where the praetor was; he had just barely voiced his question before his ears caught a faint rumble of amused laughter.

"You won't get any straight answers from them. They're here for work, and work only."

Isaaru turned, shrugging aside several strands of hair from his eyes. Several steps away from him and leaning against the banister was what he assumed to be the Mover-In-Command. At least the man looked relatively intelligent, with his sharp, green eyes and narrow face surrounded by a mane of sloppy yet almost elegant red hair, voice surprisingly light for such a heavy-set figure. As he watched, the man slipped a hand in his shirt pocket, pulled out a match, stuck it between his lips, and began chewing on it.

"I take it you ain't here for the movin'," the redhead said in an accented voice, straightening and offering his hand. Isaaru examined it for a moment before extending his own. "Djara Ithin," (2) the man stated pleasantly, the name ringing a faint bell in the summoner's mind, Baralai having informed him of the man in question a couple of days ago. "And you must be Isaaru. Pleased to meet ya."

The praetor raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"Your robes kinda gave it away."

"Ah…"

"So," Djara continued, crossing his eyes and blowing a strand of his sleek red hair out of his face. Isaaru blinked, vaguely amused. "You lookin' for the praetor?"

Still standing in the doorway, Maroda crossed his arms and nodded curtly, leaning against the wooden frame. "Yeah. Is he out?"

The redhead turned questioningly at him. "Weren't talkin' to ya, were I?"

The black-haired man blinked, almond-eyes wide, slightly taken back, before he spotted the lanky and teasing grin.

"Nah, kiddin'," the redhead slurred. Still hesitating slightly, Maroda scoffed, and then rolled his eyes, smiling faintly as Djara extended his hand to him as well, surprisingly soft for those of a daily worker.

'Slacker' was the first word that popped into Maroda's head.

"Oh, and uh… 'bout the door. The paint's still a bit wet."

Maroda blinked and looked down, noticing for that his arm was indeed covered in a shining coat of white paint. He stared at it for several more seconds, turned and examined the arm-shaped blot of mussed paint of the doorframe, sighed, and made his way to the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, "So, wait, Baralai's here, right?"

"It's his house, ain't it?" the redhead drawled, match wobbling precariously. Chewing sticks were probably a habit however, since the match never once faltered enough to fall.

"He's upstairs right now. Don't suppose you guys would mind waitin' for a while, hmm? I mean, it's not everyday the praetor himself gets a week off from his job, and I'm sure as hell not goin' up there to retrieve him. The guy deserves some rest." He glanced back towards Isaaru, who shook his head, and at Pacce, who was looking rather harassed among a large group of men. Laughing again, the redhead whipped a towel out of nowhere, slung it over his shoulders, and proceeded to the kitchen.

"You aren't just saying that because he's paying you, correct?" Isaaru asked wryly as he followed him.

Djara smirked, looking back over his shoulder. "Of course not." His eyes gleamed. Pushing himself up lightly with surprising grace onto the counter, the man rubbed his head before yawning, spitting the match into the sink. The summoner decided not to mention that he was sitting on the stove.

With a final stretch, the redhead clapped his hands together. "Awright. Since the praetor won't be down for a while, you can help us move while you're waitin'."

Behind him, Isaaru heard Maroda's small intake of breath. "Um… no thanks, really, I mean, you guys seem to have everything under control…" His words slowly trailed away when he realized that the other wasn't backing down one bit. Sighing, the black-haired man slumped his head in defeat as Pacce too began his string of sputtering and excuses, all of which happened to lead to his untimely death.

"No really, I insist," Djara murmured smoothly, grinning. Hopping back down from the counter, he ran a hand through his tousled hair, successfully tangling it within the red mass. Cursing slightly, he nodded towards his left with his chin. "Oh, and I hope your bro knows that he'd responsible for repaintin' that door. And as for moving, there's some problems with getting two king's up the stairs."

* * *

"Er…" was all he managed to say, face hot and mind racing. Panicking slightly, he attempted to say something with his usual indifference, but to no avail; his mind remained blank with shock. Next to him, Gippal quirked his eyebrow at the other's sudden silence. Cocking his head to a side, the blond rolled his eyes before leaning forward, resting his forehead against the other's. Several strands of silver whispered against his skin, brushing his cheeks. The Al Bhed bit back a smile. 

"Oy…" he drawled. When the praetor still did not respond, the Al Bhed's face furrowed in slight worry. "What, you don't mind, do you?" Gippal questioned slowly, promptly waving his hand in front of Baralai's face, who in turn took several minutes to respond.

"Huh… I —" was all he managed to say. Gippal coughed.

What a keen praetor, really.

Perhaps that would explain Bevelle's odd inhabitants.

Gippal sighed, rubbing his hands together. It wasn't that he'd never seen Baralai paralyzed with such shock before; he had, on those rare and limited occasions, and knew perfectly well how to snap the other out of it. One, shove a number of ice cubes down Baralai's pants; two, give Baralai an atomic wedgie; or three, the simple yet effective bitch slap. However, getting the praetor out of his trance wasn't the unusual part. What Gippal puzzled over was the reason Baralai was acting like this in the first place: the only times the praetor had ever been this out of it had typically revolved around alcohol, strip clubs, and the occasional rabid chocobo.

The praetor must _really_ hate this whole ordeal.

The blond's hair wilted a little. It was disappointing, he'd admit, but if Baralai was going to drag himself through the entire week, he might as well call it off. Sure, he'd have Devon after him (he cowered a little at the thought), but there was bound to be other (harder and longer) ways to get away from her. Far away.

Nothing he couldn't handle.

Even so, Gippal felt horribly… Well, he didn't know exactly. It was an odd emotion, almost exactly like… emptiness? The blond shook his head. He had looked forward to getting rid of the devil woman with a friend at his side.

Well, life wasn't exactly fair, was it?

Running his hand through his hair, the blond nodded to himself. Sure, it was depressing knowing that Baralai was basically killing himself over the task of acting gay (he wouldn't be _that_ bad of a boyfriend, right?), but what was even more saddening was the fact that the praetor hadn't said anything about it. Gippal was a flamboyant and selfish guy, but even he had enough heart in him to gain sense when it came to friendship.

Especially that of Baralai.

Right.

Now, just one problem left: getting the praetor back into the living realm.

Biting his lip slightly, the blond hesitated before he braced himself for any sudden and violent retaliation, gripped the other's shoulders lightly, and pondered over his actions once more, until his mind settled on its previous notation and he proceeded to shake every speck of life from the silver-haired man.

The action was highly effective.

Gippal wouldn't have been surprised if he'd be sporting Baralai's handprint of his face for the rest of the day.

Rubbing his cheek and cursing loudly, the blond staggered backwards and glared daggers at the praetor, who was blinking innocently and apparently had no idea what he had just done. Turning from his hand, Gippal's cheek, and finally to the murderous look in a blue eye, faint comprehension dawned on him, and Baralai laughed weakly, scooting backwards on his bottom when the Al Bhed's hands began to twitch, as if longing to wrap around his neck.

Two times in one day… it was enough to drive anyone insane.

"Right," the blond hissed past gritted teeth. Shutting his eyes darkly, he sat on his hands, fighting the urge to strangle his companion in fury, and pondered for a few seconds. His anger suddenly faded as he licked his lips nervously, for some reason not knowing what to say. He knew, despite Baralai's rather innocent demeanor, that the praetor was a proud person, and proud people never backed out of any ordeal if it meant admitting weakness.

Afraid he just might get another handprint to match with the first, Gippal shook his head. He'd risk it, as long as he got things straight. He'd rather a handprint than scorching guilt.

Watching him rather warily, Baralai frowned. "Gippal?" he questioned timidly, inching forward a tiny bit, yet not enough to invade the blond's personal bubble; the threat of death still hung sharply in the air.

The blond sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking highly distressed. He licked his lips again, slowly, and Baralai, face heating up ever so slightly, forced himself to look at anything else but the Al Bhed's tongue.

Gippal caught the praetor's sudden jerky shift, and interpreting it to his own beliefs, forced himself to speak up. "You know," the Al Bhed started slowly, "it won't really bother me that much if you… you know…"

No, Baralai did not know, and he politely informed Gippal so, still staring modestly at the wall.

"Well, if you're… not comfortable…"

No, Baralai still did not entirely know, but he was getting the general idea.

"With this… if you don't wanna help."

Silence.

Very slowly, the praetor turned his head, tearing his gaze from the pale walls, to twitching hands, up an upper torso, and finally onto the blond's face, which faltered but continued to look boldly back. Baralai narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, brows creasing and mouth set in a slim line. "Gippal…" he whispered softly, his voice almost deafening in the silent room.

The blond's chuckle wavered. "Look, 'Lai, I just don't want to put you through anything you don't want to do. I mean really, it's all good to me — "

"I thought I made it clear when I said I wasn't backing out," the other replied softly, a steely edge to his voice.

"Well, yeah, but I know how hard it is to be a praetor — well, not exactly, but close enough to it anyway. I know it's risky for you to comply to such a request, I mean, honestly, phobes and work don't really mesh, if you catch my drift — "

"I don't mind acting gay, if that's what you're getting at."

"Well no, well… yes, actually, but… then, why…" Gippal swallowed, stopping his stuttering long enough to give the white-haired man an odd look. "Then why are you all, like… you know, reluctant and crap? I mean, if it doesn't really bother you, then — "

"I hate to be skeptical, but not many men really enjoy acting as a boyfriend to their best friend, even if it doesn't really bother them." _And here I was, thinking you were stupid_, the praetor mused to himself, shaking his head.

Gippal blinked.

"Ah. Right. Fair point." He laughed weakly. "So it isn't just me, right?"

Baralai swallowed slightly, the previous calm shattered. He didn't know how to respond. 'No, of course it's not you, you're only the person I've been ogling for two years.' For some reason, he didn't think Gippal would cope well with that. "N-no…" he replied hesitantly, though he was saved from continuing the start of a shaky excuse by Gippal's ADHD nature, something that he'd never thought possible and something he'd never thought he'd ever thank.

"Wait — aww… I'm your best friend? Sweet!" He leaned forward, and Baralai, who realized what was happening a second too late and was unable to run away, was engulfed in a mind-boggling noogie. The next few moments passed in a whirl, the praetor practically cross-eyed with the ridiculous amount of pressure on his scalp.

"Wait, so you're sure?" the blond suddenly piped up, ceasing his mad ruffles through silver hair.

Slightly breathless and dazed, the praetor nodded, or at least tried to nod, neck giving out halfway through.

Gippal punched the air in his glee. "Thank you so much! If you're sure, you know… Argh, you don't know how happy I am right now! For a moment there, I thought I'd be going through this alone! God, I could kiss you!"

Baralai's hand, which had been furiously rubbing sore temples, stiffened. Gippal didn't notice the praetor's sudden uneasiness for several minutes, before he stopped as well, backtracked, and realized what he had said. And an awkward silence fell over them once more.

"Right…" the Al Bhed said jerkily, slowly releasing the death grip he'd previously had around Baralai's head and waving his hands in surrender at the familiar quiet. _Great, just great. _

Swallowing, the praetor tentatively rubbed his sore neck, actions strangely slow and sluggish, ignoring his closeness with the other and acting indifferent again, seeing as he didn't know what else to do. Minutes later, his neck now completely revived, he then occupied himself with his hair, smoothing it out and working away the tangles, stomach twisting and lurching. All the while he could feel Gippal's hesitant gaze on the back of his head.

Why was he lying to him?

Baralai narrowed his eyes, the small action hidden behind his silvery sheet of hair. He felt slightly guilty, denying his awkwardness to the blond, whom he had trusted for years. But to admit he was awkward was also to admit _why_, and that was a sticky conversation that he wanted nothing to do with. His emotions were his own problem; bringing Gippal into them was absolutely pointless. The blond couldn't help him (if he hadn't already been scared away by the fact that his friend was a hopeless homosexual) if he couldn't first deal with it by himself.

He realized vaguely that the Al Bhed was still looking at him, immobile and silent, almost cautiously. Blinking slightly, the praetor raised his head, ceasing the movements of his hand through his hair and dropping his arm back into his lap. He frowned slightly at Gippal's silence, before the words 'practice' and 'kissing' entered his head.

Ah. Yes.

He examined the Al Bhed for several more seconds before realizing that the other was… waiting… For his permission.

Well, wasn't that sweet. Insert sarcastic laugh: Ha, ha.

Not about to get all confused with his emotions should the blond proceed to shake the daylights out of him again, Baralai decided to drop all concerns, charge forward, and just take things as they came. Something Gippal would have been most likely to do, the praetor mused with dry amusement.

If it was permission the other wanted, it'd be permission he'd get.

"I'm hoping you're not going to be this hesitant over kissing me in public," the praetor murmured nonchalantly, picking delicately at his cuticles, and next to him, Gippal blinked in surprise. "So much for your superb acting skills you were boasting over yesterday. I'm ever so impressed." Baralai gave a sarcastic smile, and was received a weak one in return.

"Wait, so —"

"Yeah."

"You don't —"

"Go ahead."

"Oh. Right, so I'll just…" the blond mumbled, trailing off as he inched closer nervously. Baralai tried to look vaguely uninterested, and comparing the Al Bhed's usual proud demeanor to his now pitiful approach, he couldn't help but assume that the blond had been partially hoping for Baralai to reject him.

Well, tough luck.

He wasn't backing out if he could help it.

Besides, now that he thought about it, kissing practice with Gippal wouldn't really be so bad…

"I can feel my fingernails growing," Baralai stated with a raised eyebrow after several minutes passed with Gippal just staring oddly at him. The blond stiffened immediately. "Well, you try kissing a dude at will!" he snarled indignantly, and though Baralai could see what the blond was referring to with this blunt statement, he was in no mood for pity, and pleasantly stated back with laced venom that he was going through the exact same ordeal, so Gippal had no right to complain.

"Besides, didn't give you any problems yesterday, did it?" Baralai added coolly, tucking back a strand of silvery hair.

This was evidently the wrong thing to say. The praetor could practically see the pressure of two days' crack.

"What, you got a problem with that?" Gippal shot back coldly, nearly singeing off the praetor's face with his glare. "Why the hell do you keep bringing that back up against me? I'm _sorry_, all right?"

Baralai, at sudden loss of words to say, and in no way admitting that yes, maybe he was being a little harsh, shrugged, crossing his arms indifferently and flicking imaginary lint off of his sleeves. "Wasn't that impressive either. Seeing how all the girls obsess over you, your skill was fairly disappointing. You know. Kissing wise. Shame, really."

Yep, there he went again.

Baralai later learned to never, ever again insult Gippal's kissing skill.

The blond jerked up angrily, seized hold of the other's collar, and crushed their mouths together. Baralai's yelp of shock was muffled as the Al Bhed instantly delivered the most brutal and arousing kiss possible, sending the praetor's brain into pulse-waves of shock and causing him to lose all control at the knees, only regaining sense when the lack of air was too great.

Several minutes after he was released and dropped to the ground were spent gasping for oxygen and swooning in disorientation.

Disgusted and horribly pissed, the blond sat down on his mattress with enough force to crush a small hippo, crossing his arms, shutting his eyes angrily, and ignoring his dazed companion, puffs of steam literally escaping his ears.

Gasping slightly as he revived his lungs, the praetor slowly pushed himself up again, shaking his hair out of his eyes and still a little bit… no, really surprised. He turned towards Gippal hesitantly, swallowing as he bit his swollen bottom lip. He didn't think the blond would have cracked so early, if at all. Was it really so hard for him to do this?

He must really hate Devon.

The praetor sighed. Maybe he'd been a little too harsh, though Gippal's reaction had still been rather alarming. He'd never been that bothered by Baralai's indifference before. Though, then again, it'd been under different circumstances.

"You're taking this really seriously, huh?" the praetor whispered, more to himself than Gippal.

Hesitating, he frowned, before inching forward on hands and knees. Gippal made no response, merely stiffened. Baralai paused before continuing his slow journey, stopping at the blond's back, biting his lip again, and leaning forward, resting his chin on the other's shoulder, who tensed but relaxed immediately. A blue eye swiveled his way, glare cold and harsh. Grinning, the praetor licked his lips nervously before whispering a soft, "Sorry."

Gippal didn't reply immediately, still staring out of the corner of his eye at his companion, who in turn was gazing at his (ever so nice) profile intently. The blond finally ushered a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair before turning completely to face the praetor.

"Nah, 'Lai, I'm sorry. Really." He frowned, thinking. "Sorry about all that crap, but… I'm really hoping this'll work. Okay, so the plan isn't really great, and there's a large chance of the both of us being labeled queer faggots after this, but…"

He trailed off, eyes dropping to the floor. Baralai's lips quirked. Another sign of Gippal's uncertainty: he'd admitted fault in a plan he'd made up himself. In truth, it hadn't really been a good plan either, but thinking so and having Gippal admitting so were two different points entirely. "But…?" the praetor prompted.

Gippal looked back up at him meaningfully.

The praetor grinned. "You're hoping I'll stop being an inconsiderate bastard?"

"Well, not with those exact words, but yeah."

Baralai laughed, reaching up and flicking Gippal's eye-patch. "Right. I'll try, but it'll be hard. It's in my blood."

"Uh huh," Gippal mused dryly, unconvinced. He suddenly looked doubtful again. "So…" he muttered, his hands twitching nervously. "You wanna try that again?"

Baralai blinked before shrugging, comprehending what Gippal was getting at immediately and disguising his sudden uneasiness and rapidly beating heart. So much for getting that over with. Sure, once was okay, and twice would be acceptable, though even he wasn't too keen on having the air sucked out of his lungs repeatedly; who knew how damaging that could be?

The Al Bhed scoffed, shaking his head. "Trying to act more considerate, huh?" he murmured sarcastically.

Blinking again, the praetor cocked his head to the side before sighing. "Oh yes, let's do it again!" he yipped with fake enthusiasm, clapping his hands together as he pulled back and did a horrible imitation of Rikku.

The blond rolled his eyes, laughing. "Better."

Lowering his head eye-level once more to his weeklong guest and resting his chin once more into the small groove he had previously made in the blond's shoulder, Baralai raised an eyebrow before giving off a small smile. Gippal unconsciously swallowed, suddenly aware about how close they were, the previous moments beforehand having gone completely over his head. Being in close proximity had never had this kind of impact on him, positive (like with the ladies), or negative (like with Nooj… Not that he had willingly done it or anything…), but then again, he had never been as close to the praetor as he was now.

Well, okay, so maybe he had yesterday, but that'd been in the heat of a competition he couldn't stand to lose, and therefore hadn't taken time then to actually look, which was a shame really, since the praetor's face wasn't that horrible to stare at…

He could see almost every detail of Baralai's dark face, from the way his sleek, silver hair fell over bronze eyes, the delicate eyebrows, the smooth jaw. He was surprised at their near perfection and almost feminine touch.

Baralai didn't seem like one of Spira's beautiful people. No… rephrase that. Gippal had always known of the praetor's good looks, but considering said praetor wasn't one to fuss over his appearance, the Al Bhed had never thought about them before.

But now… Baralai could have passed for a girl had Gippal not known any better

Damn nature and her cruel jokes.

He was brought back to earth by said praetor clearing his throat, looking thoroughly bored and highly impatient. "Well?" the man questioned, the faintest tinges of annoyance hidden under the many hues of his voice. Gippal swallowed, for some reason strangely attracted to the praetor's mouth, who was oblivious to his staring. "Are you going to just zone out?"

The blond mentally kicked himself. Concentrate. Right.

He shrugged his hair out of his eyes. "I'm getting there," he drawled, slowly reaching his hand forward towards the other's face, who stared steadily back at him. The blond hesitated slightly, struck by a sudden urge to see if Baralai's skin was as soft as it looked.

Wow. That omelet he'd eaten must've really been drugged.

He learned seconds later that the praetor's face was one of the softest he'd ever seen, let alone touched. Hell, he could have petted it all day.

Yep. It had been drugged all right.

Trailing his index finger over the curve of Baralai's (who, unless he was highly mistaken and probably was, shuddered softly at contact) cheek, across his smooth jawbone, and finally stopping to a rest under a tanned chin, Gippal came to conclude that he really was becoming insane. What was even crazier was that he had no intention of stopping whatsoever, something that would most likely disgust him later but was also something he was in no mood to fight against right now.

Feeling extremely high and daring, and by all means forgetting that the two of them were merely "practicing", the blond ran the ball of his thumb over the praetor's impossibly soft bottom lip, who sucked in a sharp intake of air and had become tense and breathless over the whole ordeal. Swallowing, Gippal hesitated before leaning forward slowly, pausing only when he was mere millimeters away…

Before realizing with a jolt that this wasn't supposed to be happening, that he was here to get rid of Devon, not to enjoy himself kissing other men, his closest friend no less. It wasn't real; he wasn't suppose to feel like this. He was Gippal. Gippal, the man ladies fell for. Gippal, the man who was in no way meant to be gay.

Ah, screw it.

He jerked forward the rest of the way, holding Baralai firmly in place with a finger as he brushed the other's mouth tentatively with his own, who nearly jumped in shock, instinctive retreat now out of the picture. And Gippal suddenly found that he could care less who he was kissing, when surprise wore off and the praetor began to kiss him back; it felt too damn good to be wrong.

Weird, how yesterday hadn't affected him nearly as much, and now…

He slowly pulled back, watching with a brimming eagerness and curiosity as the praetor let out a shuddering breath, dark lashes slowly fluttering open. He pushed back a strand of hair, trailing a hand back down under the other's chin (an area he determined as his new favorite spot), thumb brushing lightly against an earlobe. He leaned forward again as Baralai's eyes fully opened, placing another slow, soft, and impossibly sweet kiss on the other's lips.

He was vaguely aware of the slight scraping noise coming from behind the two of them, as well as the sounds of quiet voices, too intent on exploring Baralai's mouth to care. It was only when the praetor pulled back slightly that the Al Bhed was finally aware of the sharp rapping coming from the door.

The open door.

Shit.

He froze.

Pulling stiffly away and feeling as guilty as a child whom has been stealing cookies from its sibling, Gippal's head twitched to the door. Baralai, still slightly dazed though alert enough to hear the noises as well, mirrored the blond, though accidentally lost his balance and fell sloppily over his companion's shoulder, who, out of surprise or instinct, wrapped a secure arm around him.

Leaning against the doorframe with a highly amused expression on his face was Isaaru, though there was something in his eyes that suggested that happiness wasn't all he was experiencing right now. He quickly hid it however, and Baralai swallowed from his squashed position against Gippal's chest before slowly pushing himself back into a proper sitting position, a faint flush in his cheeks, smoothing back his hair and ushering the summoner in, acting as if people walking in on him kissing men was an everyday thing. Beside him, Gippal was still as stone, eyeing the intruder with a very venomous gleam in his eyes. With a jolt, the praetor realized that the two of them hadn't been introduced yet.

Well, weren't first impressions just glamorous?

"Gippal," the praetor began, gently untangling the Al Bhed's arms from around his waist, and the blond turned sharply to face him, "this is Isaaru, Maroda's brother. Isaaru, Gippal."

"Ah. Gippal…" Isaaru extended his hand, smiling warmly, and Gippal shook it with his own, though not with the same amount of warmth, posture stiff and wary. He'd seen Isaaru before, yesterday, in that photo. The one who'd been so casual with Baralai. He seemed nice enough, and the blond immediately trusted him, which was perhaps the reason why he was so disgruntled. Strangely enough, he didn't _want_ to trust this man. The name also rung a faint bell. Hadn't he been a previous summoner as well?

"Sorry for… interrupting," the brunette stated lightly, turning back to Baralai, who had gotten to his feet. "But Djara said that one of the two kings go in this room, so…" He motioned behind him, and Gippal noticed the large box just outside the door, evidently holding the pieces of the bed frame.

"Ah," Baralai mused. He smiled softly. "Djara, huh? I thought I paid him to move, not recruit others to do it for him."

"Oi, the guy volunteered!"

Gippal blinked, turning around in surprise at the second man he hadn't noticed before, lounging casually on the windowsill and deep within the process of shredding a match, green eyes gleaming under a mop of red hair. The blond swallowed. When had he gotten in here?

And how much had they seen?

Baralai's voice brought him back from his thoughts.

"No, this one should go in the room down the hall," the praetor said curtly, examining the box's description. "Yeah. It's rosewood. Second bedroom, to the left."

"Ya sure?"

"I should think so."

"Right then." Djara hopped lightly down from the sill and proceeded to stroll listlessly out of the room, whistling a random tune. Baralai followed, pausing at the threshold to look back at the Al Bhed, who hadn't moved from his position since the beginning of the intrusion, still seemingly registering the whole ordeal slowly within his mind. The praetor sighed, laughing softly. "Oh, Gippal, you don't mind moving the mattress, do you? Just prop it against the wall. The next bed up's going to be yours."

"A-ah…"

Baralai smiled.

Isaaru was watching the two of them intently, arms crossed over his worn robes. When Gippal turned towards him, the summoner grinned once more, pushing himself off the doorframe as he proceeded down the hallway as well. Casting a final glance around Gippal's room, he laughed softly. "Might I suggest you take a cold shower before moving anything? It might… help things settle down." He bowed his head ever so slightly before walking out, shutting the door behind him, tucking his bangs behind an ear.

The Al Bhed blinked. Cold shower?

He looked down.

…

God dammit.

* * *

Yawning, the blond tottered over to the sofa in the game room and collapsed on top of it, burrowing his nose deep within the cushions. It'd be such a wonderful escape to just fall asleep, drift into slumber, with nothing to worry about until he awoke again. He shifted slightly, hissing as his shoulder emitted a sharp crack. Damn that bed frame. Damn Djara, for dropping it on him. Accident or no accident, he was in no mood to accept the redhead's apology. Besides, it had been nowhere close to an honest atonement (dude, the guy had been bent over double with laughter; sincere? Yeah right!). 

Hmph.

Ah well. Another day over, another day spent. He sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, with half a mind to go upstairs to his new king-sized bed, but by the sounds of it Isaaru and the others were still up there, and he wasn't really in a mood to talk. And besides, Baralai was up there as well, giving him an even larger excuse to stay downstairs, seeing as he had avoided the other as much as possible all day.

Sigh.

And speaking of which… who knew he'd get so jumpy around the praetor? Hell, he felt like a kid again, bumbling and confused. A small part of him really wanted to get up, walk up the stairs, see him… and that was what frightened him. No, his mental reaction to the praetor was still the same; he was his friend. There wasn't anything different going on. He just… wanted to be around the other more. And that was what confused him.

Someone who was a friend, and surprisingly nothing more (he was sure, since he'd gone over it all afternoon) and yet… he was happiest when he was in the other's company.

Ugh.

It wasn't natural.

Perhaps it would have been less confusing if he had starting _liking_ Baralai or something, but that wasn't the case here. He still thought of Baralai as a friend. But…

He rubbed his eyes sharply, blotches of light splashing past closed eyelids.

He needed sleep.

It was frustrating, how… apathetic the praetor always was. This morning had definitely been one of the more embarrassing moments of his life, but Baralai hadn't even flinched. Gippal knew that Baralai had always been rather mellow with emotions, only showing true distress when alone, when family or friends were in danger, or with something one hundred percent bizarre, new and puzzling (this morning, for example), and the blond was used to it, but it was still uncanny.

He supposed it was just Baralai's way, though now that he thought about it, the only people who ever acted emotionless were those who trusted no one. They stood out, too, not because of their attitudes, but because of the empty look in their eyes.

The praetor did show some sentiment, of course, but he was well on the way of becoming one of those imperturbable bastards.

And besides, his eyes… they had that look in them. The emptiness. Not all the time, but the blond had seen it enough times to know it was there.

He wondered if his eyes had it, too.

Ugh. Too complicated.

Groaning, he blearily raised his head, gazing bleakly around the room. His gaze drifted towards the large TV, over a set of unpacked games, and finally onto the odd black box he'd seen the other day, grazing lightly over the engraved letters on its top. He still didn't understand the purpose of it. Why use it to hog up space when it was absolutely useless?

His curiosity getting the better of him, the Al Bhed rolled off the couch, crumpled into an unceremonial pile onto the floor, and struggled to his feet, crawling over to the mysterious box.

Frowning, he glared at it, warily picking it up and criticizing it from all angles. It looked innocent enough, almost stupid actually, but then again, Vegnagun had looked pretty dumb as well, and had been one tough cookie to beat.

Though, perhaps meshing a small black box with Vegnagun was a bad idea.

He lifted it over his head, staring at its smooth bottom side before shaking it violently. Stroking his chin, he was about to debate whether or not he should try taking the box apart to see if it had any interesting gadgets inside of it to make up for its boring exterior when someone cleared their throat behind him. Blinking, he swallowed, turning his head jerkily around as he slowly lowered the box back to the floor, feeling a sudden wave of guilt.

Baralai.

Just great.

So much for his goal of avoiding him all day.

The praetor raised an eyebrow at him from the doorway, clothed in nothing but a pair of baggy pants. A wet towel was slung casually across his shoulders, silver hair loose and damp, the usual blue headband gone. It made Baralai look younger somehow, more innocent, if possible. He looked… dare Gippal say it… cute…

The blond was at sudden loss of words to say, struck with a sudden urge to hit himself repeatedly over the head.

_Don't think that way… not that… guy… girl… right… Baralai… wrong… argh!_

"Might I ask what you're trying to do?" the silver-haired man asked quietly, stepping lightly over to his companion. Cloth rustled as he settled himself down besides him, a hand lifting to wipe off several droplets of water from his forehead.

Gippal sputtered before frowning, turning away and glaring once more at the box, as if hoping it'd burst into flames and give him an excuse to get out of the room. He rubbed his eye patch. "I see you took your band off," he grumbled, doing his best to act offhand.

"You sound surprised."

"Hn. You'd kept it on for so long I was beginning to think it was glued to your head."

Baralai laughed, voice soft and relaxed, successfully sending unwelcome tingles down the blond's spine.

Gippal grunted. Out of the corner of his eye, he could sense the praetor watching him carefully. With nothing better to do, the Al Bhed resumed his harassment of the PS2, poking fingers within its many grooves. "Shower, I assume?" he muttered after several seconds of silence. The praetor shifted besides him.

"Oh? You noticed, have you? I _do_ hope it wasn't the wet hair that gave it away."

Another grunt.

"Why do I get the feeling you've been avoiding me, Gippal?"

"Hn."

Baralai sighed.

Muttering to himself, the blond's eye turned to his companion, who stared evenly back, albeit worriedly. "Gippal?" he prodded softly, "You okay?"

Gippal shrugged. Not keen on dwelling on the subject, he turned back to the black box. "What is this thing, anyway?" he snapped, flicking one of the corners. "Stupid box."

"That," the praetor replied lightly, leaning forward and taking the item from the Al Bhed's hands, "would be a PlayStation 2." He tapped the letters on the top of the box. "Read, Gippal."

"Play station my ass."

Baralai rolled his eyes. "It's the name of it, smart one." He looked back down at the PS2. "Actually, I haven't tried it yet. Rin gave it to me when I went to Luca. Said he didn't want it anymore, but thought I'd like it. He gave me some games for it too, said he 'burned' them, or something like that." The praetor shrugged. "Didn't tell me where he got it from. Just told me it'd been a gift from a distant friend. Sounds a bit illegal, if you ask me."

"Gasp, the praetor, possessing illegal games? The horror!" the blond muttered sarcastically, hiding his sudden curiosity. He needed something to insult.

"Yep." Baralai cast an intriguing stare his way. "Over ten of them, I think. Rin also gave me one that he claims was based off of Yuna and her pilgrimage."

"Really?" Gippal asked, wide-eyed and forgetting his previous irritability.

The silver-haired man placed the PS2 off onto the side, picked himself gracefully from the floor, and walked towards the TV. He frowned slightly as he reached it, swiping a finger across the screen. "Ugh. I should dust it…" he murmured to himself. Shaking his head, he bent down and opened one of the lower compartments, pulling open a shelf containing numerous, rectangular packages. Grabbing a few, he headed back to where Gippal had settled himself on the couch, gazing at the games expectantly and eagerly.

Really, how mature.

Smiling faintly, the praetor sat down elegantly next to the bubbling blond, who was now practically quivering in curiosity. Setting the games down carefully next to him, Baralai began to sift through them, Gippal watching every movement with a hungry expression in his eyes.

"Here it is," Baralai said finally, reaching for the game at the bottom of the pile. Like all the others, it was in a black case, leaving Gippal nothing to base a first impression on. Running a hand over its edge, the praetor pulled it open.

There must be something wonderful in here… The Al Bhed braced himself…

And was fairly disappointed when the item inside was revealed.

Frowning, he swiped the thing from inside its case and held it out in front of him. "What the hell is this? A shiny donut?" He sniffed it expectantly, before snorting and handing it back carelessly to the praetor, who was watching with a fairly amused expression at the blond's discontent.

"It's called a disk," he answered lightly. "Completely non-edible, believe me." He put it back gently, though hesitated, eyes drifting to the PS2 laying silently on the floor. His lips curled up in a smile.

Beside him, Gippal uttered a disbelieving snort, crossing his arms back over his head and shutting his eyes. He didn't notice the praetor get up beside him, nor notice when the TV was flipped on to a completely black channel. He also failed to notice Baralai switching the PlayStation on, insert the disk, and connect a controller to an outlet, only opening his eyes when the praetor dropped said controller into his lap.

The Al Bhed blinked before beginning the ritual of scrutiny all over again, picking at the helpless controller. He nearly had the shock of his life when he realized that the small buttons weren't just for show; when they all clicked consecutively after an attempt to squash the controller, Gippal let out a strangled peep and shot backwards, dropping the item sharply onto his foot and successfully destroying all the nerve-endings in his big toe.

Baralai broke out laughing besides him, picking up the abused controller and handing it back to the blond who was howling in agony. "It doesn't bite, you know," the praetor said gently, fixing Gippal in a pitying stare. "Now…" he turned back to the TV, raising the volume. "I'm guessing that this is how this works… yep, it's starting."

All pain evaporated instantly from Gippal's mind when the first few letters and words began to flash across the screen. Ushering a small "oooooh" he scooted closer, inches from falling off the couch.

"Yeah. Final Fantasy X," (3) Baralai murmured knowledgeably. "Here." Bending over to Gippal, he pressed the "X" button, selecting the choice for a new game.

"Hey! There's… people! Weird…" Gippal's eyes were as large as saucers. "Oooh… he looks fami — gack! He moved! No, wait, I moved and so he moved! Ah! He moved again!" He trailed off, squinting at the image on the screen. "This is so… bizarre! Are those… real people? Or like… generated? Ah, sweet! Hey… look! That's…" He suddenly jerked backwards. "Shuyin!" he yelled, pointing at the screen. "Ah! Or… wait, no… Is that, is that… what's his name… Tidus? This is so weird!"

Baralai sighed, feeling a migraine coming on when Gippal continued to preach chunky commentary for the next several minutes.

"Umm… Gippal…"

" — so cool. What's this again? A PlayStation game? Argh, I'm gonna steal this from you — "

"Gippal — "

" — priceless, I say, just priceless — "

"Gippal!"

"What?"

Sigh. "You're supposed to be fighting."

"Huh?"

Game over

Five minutes later:

" — alright, I'm ready! Time to kick ass! Take that! And that! And — "

"Gippal — "

" — whoo yeah! Su-cka! Whose your daddy? Uh huh, that's what I thought! Oh, this is great… I could dance to this! Awesome, I tell you. Du dum! Du du dum!"

"Gippal!"

"Yeah?"

"You can stop fighting now."

…

"Right."

"And never, ever sing that again. It was… a horrifying experience."

"Sorry 'bout that…"

* * *

He wasn't aware when he had fallen asleep, but when he woke up, it was dark. The only light came from the flickering of the TV, frozen with a scene of the digital Tidus running along the roads of Mi'hen. Baralai stared at the word "pause" for several seconds before realizing with surprise that, one, it was quiet, and two, he was leaning on someone's shoulder. 

He turned and found himself staring directly into a single eye, glowing an unnatural yet perfect hue of blue.

Even in the dim lighting, Gippal's smile was visible. It was the kind of smile that a person has after being shaken out of deep thought.

"Hope I didn't wake you up," the blond whispered, teeth flashing as he spoke.

Baralai laughed softly. "You've been watching me? Never knew you were the silent, romantic type, Gippal."

The Al Bhed blinked before scoffing, wrapping an arm around the praetor's head and ruffling his hair. Used to this kind of treatment, the silver-haired man merely shrugged his hand off, blowing a strand of silver out of his eyes. "How long have you been playing?" he asked quietly, gaze drifting back to the screen.

A shrug. "I can't decide whether or not to keep on going."

The praetor smiled, yawning. Typical.

Gippal was so warm… Thankful for the darkness, which covered up the slight flush he was bound to have on his face, Baralai shifted to a more comfortable position, resting his head in the crook between Gippal's neck and shoulder as he curled himself up into a small ball. The steady beat of the blond's heart was strangely soothing to him, and the praetor's eyes began to close once more. For the first time in months, he felt absolutely, completely, one hundred percent safe.

Finally.

Sleep…

Almost hesitantly, Gippal's arm twitched before wrapping itself more securely around Baralai's torso, though the praetor was too drowsy to notice, content and happy, breaths becoming deeper, steadier.

He fell asleep minutes before the blond uncertainly leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

* * *

(1) Sorry, I know I'm being narrow-minded, but I've just recently had an odd encounter with a really dumb and annoying mover guy (he had helped with a friend's house), so my opinion of them has gone a little biased. This is merely my way of extracting my cowardly revenge on him. 

(2) Originally, I had wanted to put one of FFX-2's original characters in that slot, before realizing that none of them would fit. Meh. Can you seriously imagine, say, LeBlanc, filling that role? So hopefully all of you can look past my randomly created person, seeing as I needed more characters to manipulate anyway. But don't worry; he's basically a filler.

…

Well, actually, Kimi thinks he and Isaaru would make a good… er… PARTNERSHIP… Let me know what you think in a review, possibly, since I wouldn't really mind adding another pair of lovebirds, but also don't really want to make it seem like I'm fawning over an OC, so yeah. Opinions, people!

(3) Eheh… I couldn't resist…


	5. Phase Four :: Part One

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X-2, or any Final Fantasy game whatsoever. Sadly, SquareEnix has the credit and the money while I have nothing but dirty socks.

Warning: Yaoi, possible yuri, sexual themes and horrible humor. You have been warned…

Thanks to Kimi for being my beta-reader.

A/N: Meh… just spent around two weeks replaying both FFX and FFX-2. Nerdy, I know, but I have no self control. Heh. But yeah, after playing those two games, I got an even stronger urge to finish FFIX, seeing as I ditched that game on the third disk for a year. After that, another urge to play FFVIII. Yep. So things kinda took it from there…

Cough.

Oh, and has anyone else realized how disappointing the perfect ending for X-2 is? Shame, really.

And I'm drifting off the topic again. Right. Okay, I know I said that the chapters will usually be written in the time period of a day, but this chapter is an exception, and will be written in two sections, otherwise it'd just be too long and messy. Let's just say that the current chapter is the… boring part of the day. Sorry!

Sorry this update took so long. Actually, I had the entire thing done three weeks ago. I know, I know, half of you probably aren't believing this, but sadly, it's true. See, the thing is, I had this European tour thing going on. My goal was to post up the chapter the week before I left, but unfortunately, my beta-reader (KIMI!) couldn't get it done. Yep. And so I was stuck in non-Internet European territory for the next two weeks. Meh. But anyway, I'm back.

Thank you all for your fabulous reviews. I've been hoping for ten reviews per chapter since the start of this, and you guys haven't let me down once. Thanks so much!

**The Art of Deception**  
Natsue Arishima

**Phase Four: Gaining Ease in Necessary Lies  
Part One**

_Ba-dump! Ba-dump!_

His eyes felt heavy, so he didn't bother opening them, vaguely aware of the fact that, had this been any normal day, he would have been wide-awake by now. But as it was, something told him that today wasn't just another ordinary day.

He was dimly aware of a secure and stable warmth, and a steady, rhythmic thudding. Odd. He frowned, thinking it was his own heart at first, before realizing that no, it wasn't. The gentle beating belonged to something else… something unbearably close… And the warmth. It wasn't his either. It was nice, though… so soft…

And that smell… that indescribable yet intoxicating smell… fresh and clean, with a touch of a nameless scent. It was so familiar.

He snuggled closer, burrowing his face in it.

A brush like silk.

He paused. Cloth?

Struggling, he slowly opened his eyes.

Bright light assaulted his vision, dappling his sight and causing him to hiss. Immediately, he shut them again, even though the light was still there, distorted rays fanning out behind his eyelids. He raised a hand and rubbed his eyes, consequentially losing his balance and toppling over the tempting warmth he had sensed earlier, spurring a soft "umph" from it. It was… it belonged to a person.

So tired…

Warily, he opened his eyes again, just a slit, fighting off the fierce grip of sleep. He winced at the sunlight poring through the small window in the wall, though refused to give in again. Ever so slowly, he pushed himself upright, gazing at his surroundings with distant attachment.

He was on a couch. Around him, slender black boxes littered the cushions, the carpet. There was a TV in the corner of the room, with cords attached to it, connected to a black box, which lay quietly on the floor. Large speakers were placed in the corners of the semi-circle of a room.

Familiar.

And then it clicked.

This was his game room.

And then everything made sense again.

Turning, Baralai blinked at the sleeping blond next to him, head against the wall, one hand on the arm of the couch, and a controller balanced awkwardly over a knee. The praetor smiled slightly, leaning forward and brushing a golden strand away from slender eyebrows.

His hand stopped at the other's face, hesitating.

Would it ever be like this again? Waking up next to him, seeing him before anything else every day… Baralai sighed, pulling back his fingers and rubbing them as if they'd been stung. No. No matter how much a person could hope, things like that — miracles — never happened. Yevon was cold-hearted when it came to matters such as love and want.

He sighed, turning back to the blond, eyes drifting over the smooth forehead, dark lashes, straight nose, strong chin. Gippal looked so peaceful asleep. He sighed. Sure, it was never going to happen, but he could always pretend.

Nothing wrong with that.

He leaned forward again, and was struck with a sudden urge.

He wanted to kiss him.

Baralai refrained from slapping himself on the face, aware that any sudden action would most likely wake the other. Bad, bad, bad! He wasn't supposed to be thinking like that. But… then again, it wouldn't hurt, right? Gippal _was_ asleep… he wouldn't know. Besides, if the blond did wake up, he could just claim he was… what was it? Practicing. Right. And besides, it wouldn't be a real kiss. Just… a light peck. Yup. Nothing wrong with that.

Baralai had self-control. Of course he did.

Licking his lips nervously, he edged closer. Funny how terrifying kissing someone could be, compared to endless battles and the risk of death that, now that he thought about it, really weren't that horrifying after all. But… he wasn't backing down. He wanted to do this, and do it he would.

He stopped when his face was mere inches away. Gippal's skin looked so smooth; not soft, but calm, perfect. He had half a mind to touch him, see how the blond's face felt, but refrained. There would be plenty of other times to do things like that. But… right now… he just wanted this moment for himself.

He swallowed, and had been bracing himself, when Gippal peeked open an eye and grinned.

Baralai's eyes widened in surprise. He jerked backwards, but Gippal's arm (when had that gotten there?) held him firmly in place. The praetor, in his sudden panicked state, turned back to look at his companion, who wore a cheeky grin. That bastard.

"Molesting me in my sleep, huh?" the blond asked softly, breath brushing slightly against Baralai's neck, who suppressed a shiver. "That's not very nice."

The praetor attempted to look unruffled, which, at the moment, was hard for even him to do. "Says the one who probably does it all the time, with your dates and all."

Gippal chuckled. "Not when they're asleep, I don't." He lifted his head off the wall, pulling their faces even closer together. "Though you're partially right. I do make exceptions sometimes."

The praetor felt like he was going to faint, eyes dropping to watch Gippal's mouth as he spoke, dragging each word out slowly and carefully as if he knew what agony Baralai was going through. This was a dream, it had to be a dream… Gippal would never do something like this if it wasn't a dream… He suddenly felt very small.

"What's the matter, praetor?" the blond purred, his other hand snaking around Baralai's waist. Their noses brushed lightly against each other. "Looking mighty breathless there," Gippal whispered, blue eyes locked sharply onto the praetor's brown ones. Baralai immediately looked away. A smirk slowly crawled across Gippal's face as the silver-haired man sputtered, trapped and visibly nervous.

A finger found its way under Baralai's chin and, gently but forcefully, turned his head back to meet the Al Bhed's steady gaze. "I like to see eyes when I talk," Gippal murmured conversationally, their faces now so close Baralai could feel the other's lips moving lightly against his own like a ghostly touch. "Otherwise I feel like I'm being avoided," the blond continued, pressing even closer, lips brushing with every syllable.

"S-stop…" Baralai mumbled quietly, finally regaining his voice.

"Oh? But I don't think you really want me to." Gippal blew lightly on Baralai's face, a playful glint in his eyes. "Do you?"

The praetor swallowed, speechless again.

"That's what I thought," the blond whispered. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, kissing his companion lightly on the lips.

Baralai tensed immediately, feeling as if all the nerves in his body were on fire.

Grinning, the blond pulled back slightly, locking his eyes with Baralai's, before leaning forward and placing feather-light brushes on the other's lips again. The praetor remained still as stone, fists clenched at his sides; they slowly began to relax as Gippal's kisses became deeper, firmer, giving Baralai the blissful impression that one didn't have to die to go to heaven.

He was about to respond when the blond pulled away again, trailing down towards his neck and leaving Baralai feeling highly abandoned and frustrated.

"Gippal, what — " he gasped, breaking off the kiss, suddenly breathless when one of Gippal's hands slipped under his shirt.

Dear Yevon… This was perfect. His world was perfect. Complete, fulfilled… everything was right, in place…

Or at least, everything was until Gippal burst out laughing.

Bewildered and highly embarrassed, something he'd never though he'd ever feel again, the silver-haired man jerked back and shoved the guffawing blond off the couch, where he crumpled into a heap of blankets, skin and blond hair as he continued his train of hysterical laughter. Just by watching him, Baralai felt his anger bubble.

How _dare_ he!

The following few minutes resulted in serious head abuse.

After Baralai's hand was numb from thwacking the other repetitively with nothing but the burning desire to knock out his brains, he felt slightly more satisfied, though still furious nonetheless. The praetor got elegantly to his feet, straightened his shirt, combed through his hair briefly with his fingers, stepped over a dazed though still grinning blond, and announced loudly that he was going to go cook breakfast, excusing himself magnificently from the room, nose in the air.

When the praetor's footsteps finally died away, Gippal picked himself up, rubbing his head. The smile immediately dropped from his face.

His worst fears had been confirmed.

It hadn't just been a one-day thing. The omelet he'd eaten yesterday hadn't been drugged with some sort of desperate love-potion crap, as he'd previously believed and placed his blame on. Or if it had, the effects were taking ages to wear off.

He had _liked_ doing that to Baralai. Yesterday, and today.

He had wanted more.

He still wanted more.

And he was sure as hell no straight man would ever feel that way.

"Dear God, I think I'm turning gay," he informed the walls with a heavy sigh, blearily leaning back against the foot of the couch as he tended to his new set of bruises. He could feel a headache coming on, most possibly a result of his previous flogging, but also as a result of overworking his brain with worry. He couldn't keep doing this.

He couldn't keep mentally killing himself over the praetor. Denial wasn't worth it. Who knew how many gray hairs and wrinkles he'd get from all his worrying?

Yep. Denial _definitely_ wasn't worth it.

With a small twitch tugging at the corner of his lips, Gippal raised his head thoughtfully, staring with a renewed interest about the room. His eyes dropped onto the TV, realizing that it was still on, and made his way towards it, wincing slightly as his head pounded with the sudden movement. The mild-mannered praetor could sure pack a punch.

Reaching out his hand and resting it on the power button, he gazed at the immobile Tidus on the screen before grinning and flicking the television set off with a nudge of a finger as he shut his eyes.

It was time to try something new.

Almost immediately, it was as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He didn't understand what was happening so far, but he'd figure it out eventually.

It'd only be for a week, anyway.

…

And besides, he also couldn't deny the fact that he kind of liked watching the praetor squirm.

* * *

True to his word, Gippal found Baralai in the kitchen, who, upon his entering, began bustling around the room with much more vigor and noise than necessary, clanging pots, banging pans, throwing/dropping knives, etc. Therefore it became no wonder as to why the blond correctly assumed that the other was both angry at and ignoring him. This assumption was proved true when, whilst slicing some carrots, Baralai's hand _supposedly_ slipped, the knife flew out of his hand, and therefore _accidentally _buried itself into the opposite wall from whence it came, _incidentally _several inches away from Gippal's face. 

Yep, uberly pissed.

There was no other word for it.

He'd never seen the praetor so angry. Okay, so Baralai's temper had been pushed to the limit several times before, but he'd always sulked quietly, by himself. Today, smoke was practically radiating off of him, and the blond was sure that, had the other been on the battlefield, not even the most vicious monster would have dared approach him.

"Hey, 'Lai?" the blond questioned timidly from the hallway several minutes later, making sure that there was no possible way the praetor could chuck a knife at him from that angle.

"What?" the praetor snapped irritably, chopping off the head of a broccoli with a sudden, furious jerk. Gippal scooted back another several feet. Best to steer clear. Just in case.

Baralai's knife gave an ungainly wobble.

"Nevermind."

He'd come back later.

Baralai continued chopping things with ire for several minutes more. It gave him odd satisfaction, cutting and slicing small and defenseless vegetables. Oh dear. It seemed he had become blood-thirsty during Gippal's stay. He really needed to hire a cook.

His anger eventually cooled, and he lowered his knife when he could no longer sense Gippal in the room with him. Hoping the blond had left for good, but at the same time wishing for him to come back, the praetor sighed and placed the knife onto the cutting board, rubbing his temples as he sat himself down on a stool. He shut his eyes, exhaling a long breath. Slowly, his furrowed brows relaxed.

Honestly, Gippal was going to be the death of him one day. (1)

He was probably overreacting again, but then again, who wouldn't, after being basically tossed around like a rag doll by the one person he cared for the most. That stupid, good-for-nothing, annoying, mental, crazy, flirtatious, machina loving, irresistible, ever so attractive womanizer. He hated him.

…

Okay, maybe not, but he could try.

…

Fine.

He absentmindedly grabbed a cup, summoned up some water, and gulped it down, blanching at the bitter taste. He knew it wasn't exactly a smart idea, seeing as magical water was always bitter and sometimes even a little harmful when swallowed the wrong way, but its horrible taste and burning sensation was enough to keep his mind on something else besides his hopeless infatuation, at least for the time being.

Or so he thought.

He shut his eyes, wincing yet enjoying the water's fiery progress down his throat. Fiery… Gippal was like fire… unpredictable yet —

This wasn't helping.

Slightly annoyed, the praetor placed the cup back carelessly onto the counter. He'd always thought of Gippal plenty of times before, but now it seemed he could hardly get the other out of his mind. It was a sudden change; even yesterday, he'd been able to focus on other topics easily. But, for some odd reason, it seemed that he was suddenly… obsessed with… the blond. And that wasn't supposed to happen. Liking someone he could cope with. Obsession he could not. It was a stupid emotion anyway; never once had an obsessive person received anything good in return.

Ugh.

Rubbing his eyes, the praetor nodded to himself, clapped his hands, and got up. He'd go distract himself. He _had_ to distract himself. It'd only be bad if he didn't. He'd never be able to live with himself.

And he almost jumped out of his skin when someone poked him sharply in the side.

"Ack! What the — who — wrong with you! Crazed… manic, I mean —" he exclaimed angrily, or said something along the lines of that anyway. Spinning around sharply and half expecting to see a smirking Djara behind him, he found himself face to face with — well, the annoying blond character whose brain was so small he could probably shove up back up his head through his nose if it ever fell out.

Okay, so he'd work on that insult.

"Hello," he finished bitterly.

Regaining his composure immediately, Baralai scoffed and walked towards the counter again, suddenly very keen on the idea of chopping more vegetables. "What do you want?" he asked, voice acidic, picking up his knife once again, rubbing a thumb over warm wood. "I thought you left."

Gippal followed him at a distance, which was easy enough to do in such a spacious kitchen, hands in pockets. "Probably would have."

"It would have been smarter. I might not be able to refrain from cutting off an important organ." Chop chop.

A shrug, though blue eyes were wary. "I wanted to apologize."

Knife halfway down the length of a particularly large carrot, Baralai paused. Typical. He frowned, suddenly not wanting to hear an apology at all, not even sure he needed one anymore. All Gippal ever did was apologize. Boring, really. The Al Bhed could… spice up an apology somewhat. Like… throw a party or something (though Baralai wasn't sure he wanted Gippal hosting a party in the first place; one like that was sure to last for several weeks). It was kind of sad. He'd thought the blond was creative. Sighing, he turned back to his carrot, attempting to pull the knife through but to no avail, its blade now firmly stuck within the stubborn orange mass.

Great, now even the useless knife was holding a silent strike against him. Traitor.

Almost automatically, Gippal grabbed the utensil from the praetor, sliced the rest of the carrot fluidly, and returned the piece of cutlery in three seconds flat, continuing his previous tread. "Not just for this morning, For the previous couple of days, and possibly the soon-to-come days as well. I dunno… I know I've probably been kinda… odd, lately. But it's hard, you know? I mean, it's always been girls for me. And… I don't really like change, to tell you the truth. It's kind of hard to adjust."

Baralai made a noncommittal noise, not really in the mood to listen to a from-the-heart speech. _Showoff_, he pouted silently. _So what if you've got big, beefy muscles… perfect, slender muscles… _

"Look," Gippal said, almost desperately. He seemed to take the praetor's silence as a personal insult; it was rare when he hardly received less than a glance after giving some thought-out and meant-to-be touching speech, but then again, he'd always done so previously with groups of heavy and divorced women. He supposed such long and sickly sweet sentences didn't really appeal to the praetor. It was either that or he was losing his charm, and Gippal hated to think so. Puffing up his chest again (losing his charm? He thought not!), and in the praetor's eyes resembling an overstuffed owl, he took the knife back from Baralai and began cutting up the closest thing he could reach, which, unfortunately, happened to be an onion. "I'll make it up to you." He sneezed loudly.

Damn acidic juices.

"Oh? And how so?"

The blond shrugged again, blinking rapidly. "I'll think on it," he muttered, tears streaming down his face.

He lapsed into silence, and Baralai followed his lead, watching with vague amusement as drop after drop of salt water fell from Gippal's chin and splashed onto slowly dampening onions in steady progression.

Fifteen minutes and ten onions later (Baralai wasn't even sure if they were even going to eat any of them), along with several extremely long and noisy tissue breaks, Gippal cleared his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot uneasily, almost like he was bracing himself for some sort of horrifying operation. The praetor, noticing his sudden awkwardness, blinked, faint curiosity brimming at the other's obvious discomfort. No, he wasn't sadistic, of course not.

"Gippal?" he prompted softly, trying to look into the blond's (rather puffy — why didn't he just ditch the onions and go cut something else up?) face, though, seeing as the other kept moving, it was a hopeless attempt.

"Have you —" the other began, but stopped and cleared his throat. He paused, staring hard at his hands, before shaking his head and uttering a faint laugh. "Nah, nevermind."

"No, what?" Baralai pressed. He smiled softly, anger dissipating. "Yes, Gippal?"

The Al Bhed bit his lip.

"Have you ever…" His face was red, and he was now obviously avoiding eye-contact with the silver-haired man, fumbling and rendering the current onion into some rather odd shapes. Noticing this, Baralai took the knife back, just in case Gippal got nervous and somehow managed to cut off some fingers, or his whole hand even. The praetor wasn't too keen on mopping up blood from his counter all afternoon.

Fidgeting, the blond grabbed a piece of celery and proceeded to shred it, having nothing else to occupy his hands with. He cleared his throat again. "Right. Okay." He swallowed. Baralai checked the time.

"Have you ever… you know… felt…" The Al Bhed snapped the poor celery stick in half. The action seemed to spur something inside of him; determined, he straightened up and turned to face the praetor head on. "Well, wait, okay. Have you ever felt… more… for a friend, when you know you shouldn't?" His eyes flickered.

Baralai blinked. Yes, yes, of course he knew. Though, what a random question. The optimistic part of his brain was telling him that the only reason Gippal had brought up the topic was because the blond himself liked a close friend (Me! He likes me! Yay!) though the other, more sensible part of his brain insisted that he shouldn't think too much into it, that Gippal had a lot of other friends he might be referring to, lady friends to be exact, much to his sadness and disappointment.

Damn sensibility.

"N-no… No, I don't think I have," Baralai lied after several seconds of thought, not keen on telling the truth this time. He didn't want Gippal asking awkward questions.

"Ah," the blond muttered quietly, strips of his celery piece floating lifelessly down onto the counter. Baralai bit his lip, tempted to take back his words, when the Al Bhed laughed, light and careless.

The sound was enough to make one melt.

"Nah, sorry, just being paranoid." Gippal picked up a carrot piece and popped it into his mouth, immediately making a face before promptly letting loose a spray of orange spit into the sink. "Argh, that was… _nasty!"_

Baralai, wrinkling his nose, wiped off several flecks of carrot that had somehow ended up on his robes.

"Do you _know_ how old that is, or is that just how all your carrots taste around here?" Gippal shuddered, turning on the faucet, cupping some water into his hands, and drinking it desperately, droplets of liquid sliding down his chin. The praetor paused, oddly fascinated, all previous disgust forgotten, eyes trailing the water running down his neck, over his collarbone, into his shirt.

"Ugh," the Al Bhed exclaimed, sticking out his tongue and successfully getting Baralai disgusted again at the half-chewed food on it.

Wiping his mouth, the blond finally leaned back, the bitter taste still as strong as ever in his mouth. The praetor grinned slightly next to him, shaking his head, and Gippal raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you find it so amusing, why don't you try one then?" he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk on his face as he cocked his head pointedly towards the innocent pile of chopped vegetables.

Baralai just smiled sweetly. "I think I'll pass, thanks."

He caught the gleam in Gippal's eye just in time, and twisted away when the blond suddenly lunged towards him with a carrot piece in hand, keeping his lips firmly sealed. He probably would have gotten away safely too, had it not been for the fact that the blond's other hand found its way to his waist, and the praetor immediately dissolved into peals of laughter, tears stinging his eyes.

"Get… off!" he gasped, laughing helplessly as his assaulter continued to tickle him relentlessly.

"Not until you say 'ah'," Gippal grinned cheekily, poking at the praetor's mouth as he attempted to shove the revolting piece of food in.

Trapped and reluctant to eat the intruding item point blank, Baralai made use of his final weapon.

He bit Gippal on the finger.

Hard.

"ARGH!" the blond shrieked, pulling away immediately. Baralai took the chance and scrambled away quickly, lest he be tickled again. "Oh, you're DEAD!" Gippal roared in a wave of shock and laughter, eyes popping and finger spewing blood. He turned back to the cutting board, lifted it up, and began chucking random handfuls of food at his companion, who had, by then, crawled to the other side of the counter.

"Really?" Baralai asked thoughtfully, poking his head out to blow a raspberry before ducking under again, narrowly avoiding a face-full of tear-stained onion. "I believe I'm breathing currently, so your description of 'dead' isn't exactly plausible, is it?" he asked breathlessly, lifting his head again.

Gippal flashed him the middle finger as he grabbed another handful of food and chucked. The praetor merely turned his head to one side, grinning triumphantly.

His conquest lasted for a mere two seconds before he yelped and dived under again; Gippal had thrown the entire cutting board over the counter. It landed with a dull thud against the opposite wall before sliding down onto the floor, leaving a trail of meshed vegetables and sticky juice in its wake.

"You're responsible for scrubbing that off!" the praetor yelled, hands over his head as he waited for other objects to fly after the board.

Nothing came.

Baralai frowned.

He stopped himself from looking up at the last moment; Gippal was probably going to ambush him the moment his head appeared. It _was_ something the blond would most likely do, after all. Satisfied, the silver-haired man settled himself comfortably on the floor.

Minutes passed.

And it was quiet.

Alright, something was definitely up. Baralai cocked his head, listening, but heard nothing. Nothing. Not even the sound of cloth moving, rustling, breathing even. Worry began to nag at him. Gippal hadn't somehow hurt himself, had he? No… not even the blond would be stupid enough to stick himself with a knife on accident during a blurry moment. And besides, even if he had somehow managed to stab himself, Baralai would have known. The blond had never exactly been quiet when hurt.

Right?

Slowly, Baralai inched his head up, eyes peeking over the edge of the marble countertop. Nothing but limp vegetables. Brows furrowing, the praetor straightened up fully. Where _was _that infuriating blond? If this was his idea of a joke, it wasn't funny. Yevon, Gippal was going to get a beating later for this, he'd see t—

"EURGH!" Or something like that.

Something large, heavy and blond pummeled him from the side, laughing maniacally. The wind knocked out of him, Baralai winced slightly as his back connected with the firm, smooth floor, though was given no time to complain when a rain of smelly carrots began pelting at him.

"What — Gippal!" he snapped, though quickly shut his mouth when an orange piece came uncomfortably close. Above him, Gippal was grinning snarkily, looking rather comfortable in his straddling position (somehow, he _still_ managed to look like he was sitting on a throne) as he continued to shove whatever pieces of food he'd managed to recollect into the praetor's face.

"Gippal never loses!" the blond stated with a gleam in his eye, hand wrapped around a large, final piece of onion, which he promptly shoved under Baralai's nose.

"Funny. I recall you lost our little contest two days ag — " Baralai wasn't allowed to finish when the onion piece found its way between his mouth. Stunned momentarily, he shook his head before clamping his lips firmly shut when the item was halfway through, refusing to let it come any closer to his tongue than it already was. Gippal blinked, surprised, and the praetor took the time to spit the thing up and away, where it bounced weakly off the blond's taut stomach.

The Al Bhed stared at it, realized that it was his last bit of food, and made a wild swipe, but was outwitted again when the praetor's hand wrapped around it first and threw it as hard as he could towards the wall.

"Hah!" the silver-haired man cried rather breathlessly, slightly crushed under Gippal's weight (he wasn't going to lie: Gippal was tall, muscled, and immensely heavy). "Looks like I won again. So much for never losing."

"You cheated! You weren't supposed to use your hands!"

His pinned partner blinked. "Never said that, did you? And besides, that'd be rather unfair, don't you think?"

Gippal cursed, grabbing Baralai's hands and wedging them under his legs as well. He looked around, frowning when he realized that he'd have to get up if he wanted to retrieve another food piece, therefore setting the praetor free and giving him another chance to run away. Underneath him, Baralai seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for his eyes gleamed and he smiled coyly. "Go on, Gippal. Go get one. I'll stay put."

"Liar," the blond snapped shortly, before another idea flashed across his mind. A devious smirk slid over his face, and Baralai's eyes widened nervously. Making sure the praetor's hands and body were securely imprisoned under his knees, the blond leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of his target's head.

"And besides," he whispered softly, dipping his head even lower, so that his nose brushed against the other's, who swallowed. "Why should I, when there's another way I can win?"

Uh oh.

Baralai squirmed beneath Gippal, realizing what the blond was going to do. But… too late. His head was caught, his mouth captured, and an idiot tongue was swiftly shoved down his throat.

Seconds later, he blanched, and shot out under the triumphant blond's body, stumbling towards the sink and spitting desperately into it. Hands fumbling, he turned on the water, eyes watering.

"Hah," Gippal declared happily behind him, crossing his arms behind his head as he leaned against the wall, smoothing out his hair. "Who lost this time, huh?"

That had been one rotten carrot.

* * *

Skirting around a large group of movers and the massive table they carried between them, Gippal sucked thoughtfully on his lollipop. Another group of men headed closer to him, carrying a cabinet, and he ducked his head casually under to get past them, grinning as he passed. They shook their heads at him, chuckling, and he waved before proceeding his way down the hall, heading towards the living room, where he assumed the praetor would most likely be supervising the morning's actions. 

He shook his head. Typical.

Head in the clouds, he nearly smacked into Djara, who was tottering precariously behind a rather large and fragile looking vase. "Hey, slacker," he greeted sweetly.

"Oy!" the redhead yelped, messy head poking out from behind the engraved flowers, match nearly reduced to shreds between white teeth. "You mind?"

"No, not really," Gippal drawled, grinning as the redhead made a swipe for his head, nearly lost his balance, and stumbled wildly for a new grip on the vase, finally giving up and placing it with a thud on the ground. He wiped his brow wearily.

"Thanks loads, you," the man panted.

"Why don't you just push it along?" the blond asked, vague interest in his eyes as he examined his lollipop before sticking it back into his mouth. He noted with faint amusement that the redhead's carefree and lazy manner had evaporated when he had realized that work was necessary this morning. Hah. That'd teach him to never drop a bed frame again.

Djara stared suspiciously at him before his mind registered the words. "Oh. Right." And he left, a slight flush staining dark cheeks, pushing the vase towards Baralai's study.

Shaking his head, Gippal stuck his hands in his pockets before continuing his listless stroll towards the living room, mind clouded with the promise he'd made to the praetor earlier that day, over his apology. Half of him insisted that Baralai hadn't really believed him, that he probably wasn't expecting anything anyway. The same half also pointed out the (sadly truthful) point that it wasn't likely he'd think of anything creative anyway.

But at the same time, another part of him _really_ wanted to do something special for the praetor. He hadn't exactly been an easy person to be around with the past couple of days, and if things kept up, who knew how tarnished his friendship with the praetor would be. He was going to fix it.

He didn't know why the emotion was so desperate. He just… wanted to. It bewildered him somewhat. Baralai was a friend, but Gippal had never been previously struck with such an urge to surprise a friend, mending relationships or not. Sure, he'd planned parties and such, but he hadn't agonized over planning them and perfecting them. Why was he so eager to prove something now?

Baralai was just a friend.

Then again, Baralai was turning out to be a… rather special friend.

Gippal swallowed, frowning; however, before he could start worrying with himself again, he choked on his lollipop.

Damn bonbon.

Cursing and sputtering as he pulled it out of his mouth with a small _"pop"_, the blond fumed before something in his memory triggered and his eyes softened, gazing at the red sphere. His anger faded immediately (as it seemed to have been doing a lot lately; if he didn't know any better, he'd say he was going through a male version of PMS, as odd and horrifying as it would seem). He was actually partially grateful the stupid piece of candy had nearly gorged him to death. It had stopped him from the start of another argument with himself over Baralai, which was something he had just promised to himself an hour ago that he'd stop doing.

He'd worry, think, regret, whatever else he needed to do, _after_ this whole ordeal was over with.

Right.

He'd just… go with the flow for now. He'd follow his own flow of emotions, and possibly Baralai's as well on the way.

Head so high up in the clouds, he barely noticed it when his feet guided him automatically to the living room, only regaining the use of his brain when he tripped and narrowly avoided goring a hole in his throat by way of his lollipop. Shaking his head and rubbing his neck, he slowly straightened up, annoyed with the fact that he always seemed to be falling lately. His eyes narrowed in suspicion when he wondered if his mood swings and little falls were somehow related.

It was almost as if there was someone out there, writing his every move and enjoying him or herself (he couldn't help but think it'd be a she) immensely whenever he encountered a particularly embarrassing scene.

Nah. Impossible. (2)

"Yes?" a voice asked from his left, and the blond jerked in surprise, turning to find a shirtless Baralai on a step-ladder, a large paint brush in hand, who stood with his back to him. As the blond watched, the praetor dipped the brush in a bucket full of sky blue paint that had been placed carefully on the second highest rung of the ladder, before returning to a previous spot on the wall.

"Yes?" Baralai prompted again after several seconds of silence, and Gippal, tearing his gaze unbashfully away from dark shoulder blades, broke into a cheeky grin.

"Having fun, 'Lai?" he asked quietly.

Said "'Lai" paused before turning, faint surprise evident in dark eyes. As his eyes dropped onto his visitor, the praetor blinked before smiling cheekily. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else." He turned back just in time to notice the steady drip of paint falling from his paintbrush onto his grey sweatpants. "Oops."

Curiosity slightly brimming, the Al Bhed stepped forward until he was side by side with the ladder, watching his companion pick hopelessly at his ruined pants. "Who'd you think I was?" he asked around his mouthful of candy.

Baralai shrugged, evidently giving up on his pants, for he turned back to the wall and began to paint wordlessly.

"Lollipop?" the blond offered, smirking.

The praetor rolled his eyes. "No thank you," he said pointedly, though added, after another bold stroke with his brush, "Maybe though, if you want to paint for a while."

Gippal put a hand on his hip, mocking indignation. "What kind of deal is that? I give you food _and_ work? That's just cold, plain cold."

"You offered," Baralai replied back, a small smile back on his face. He smoothly held out the end of the wooden brush. "Well?"

Taking the end of it, the blond clambered up onto the ladder next to his friend, who propped himself in a sitting position, leaning against the bare wall he had yet to work on. "You strike a harsh deal, praetor," the blond murmured haughtily. "Is that how you treat your supporters?"

"Perhaps. It's a secret," the silver-haired man said slightly, tugging Gippal's candy from his mouth, who protested, and putting it in his own, before shifting into a more comfortable position and closing his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair away with a finger, surprisingly devoid of paint. "Why, what a lovely flavor."

"You evil man."

"I know." A bronze eye peeked open. "You might want to take your shirt off, too." Lips twitched but refrained from smiling, the silver-haired man realizing just how suggestive his previous sentence was.

Gippal blinked, cocking his head to one side as he looked down at his shirt, before a smirk inched its way across his face. He slowly leaned forward, breathing lightly on Baralai's face. "Didn't know you were the hasty type, 'Lai," he purred softly. The praetor scoffed, swatting him away.

"Think whatever you want, but I'm not going to be responsible when you realize you've painted your shirt blue."

"Uh huh. So that's all it was about, huh?" the Al Bhed murmured, nipping the tip of Baralai's nose playfully. The latter quirked a brow. Laughing, the blond pulled back, placing the brush carefully back into the bucket of paint before resting his hands on the hem of his shirt. Pausing momentarily, he bit his lip before chuckling, and ever so slowly pulled the shirt off over his head, flashing Baralai mocking smiles along the way.

"Stop with the show already," the praetor muttered, shoving the other lightly, who laughed again, before throwing his shirt down on the ground. "Go do that with someone who's interested."

"Oh, you broke my heart!" Gippal mocked dramatically, a hand over his bare chest as he pretended to swoon. "Oh, how could you!" He broke into fake, hysterical sobs, a perfect replica of a naggy girl Baralai had met on his travels during the Crimson Squad, who could have passed for a loud and blubbering shadow had she insisted on it.

Grabbing the brush and still wailing, Gippal wrote the message "Me and Baralai FOREVER!" sloppily on the wall, decorating it with hearts and stars.

"Oh, stop it, you," Baralai laughed, flicking the blond on the head, whose wails were immediately replaced by the usual smirk. "You're a moron."

"I know," the blond replied contentedly. He rubbed his nose, leaving a streak of blue behind unknowing. Baralai bit his lip, smiling. "What was her name, anyway? Linda? Lacy? L-something," Gippal muttered, staring hard at the ceiling as if it'd help him remember, before laughing as he recalled the memory.

"Tristy," Baralai stated, smiling as well, either because of the recollection or Gippal's lack of it. "And would you mind me asking why you were suddenly spurred to bring up the topic?"

Gippal shrugged. "I found your photo albums. And either way, she was no doubt the most devoted girl I'd ever met in my life. Running around after you as if her life depended on it." The blond shook his head, dipping the brush in the bucket again as he began to paint over his previously sloshed words. "The only girl that was ever taken with the praetor," he stated climactically, a hand over his heart. "Young love is always so innocent."

"Only girl?" Baralai asked, eyebrow raised as he bit back another smile, taking the brush from the blond and painting a stronger coat over a squiggly heart.

"In those days, my adolescent friend, you were nothing but a white-haired pipsqueak."

"And you a brainless fop. Oh wait, you're still like that. And need I remind you that I'm the older one?"

Gippal laughed. "Fairly spoken," he chuckled, sticking out his tongue as he watched Baralai paint with alarming patience, actions covered with their usual fluidness and perfection. Honestly, that praetor. Was there _anything_ he wasn't good at?

A sudden thought struck him.

"Hey, 'Lai…?" he asked slowly, staring hard at the back of a silver-haired head. The praetor nodded that he was listening, dipping his brush back into the paint. "Do you ever take a breather?"

A pregnant pause. "Pardon?"

Gippal shrugged. "You know. Take a break off from work."

The blond twitched when Baralai began laughing. "Gippal," he replied, slightly exasperated. "Why else do you think I'm home right now? It's not everyday I take a week away from my office." The praetor shook his head, and Gippal frowned, a hand on his hip.

"So, you calling this a break?"

"I should think so."

"Dun look like it."

The steady swish of brush against wall stopped as the praetor paused, eyes slowly glancing over to his companion, who was staring at him carefully with arms crossed tightly over his chest. The atmosphere had sudden changed from friendly teasing to tense accusation. If he didn't know any better, it was almost as if Gippal was… mad at him. Mad, at him, for reasons unknown. Baralai bit his lip.

How absurd.

He turned back to the stretch of white wall, painting over it in bold strokes, eyes narrowed and deep in thought. Why was the Al Bhed mad at him? It wasn't as if he'd done anything wrong.

He missed the smile sneak ever so slowly across the blond's face.

It seemed as if Gippal had found a way to make it up to Baralai.

But first, he'd need to make a call.

* * *

Running a brush through his damp hair doubtfully, Baralai slipped off the towel around his shoulders with his other hand and hung it over a chair, stepping out of his bathroom and into the familiar master bedroom, making a beeline for his dresser. He placed the brush thoughtlessly onto polished wood before kneeling down, hand resting on one of the smooth, silver handles, pulling it towards him to reveal a drawer full of light pastel shirts. Carelessly picking the closest one to him, he reached for another drawer and grabbed a pair of pants as well. 

He sat down on his bed, shaking his hair out of his eyes as he pulled the sleeveless shirt over his head, the pale blue a stark contrast against his tanned skin. Hesitating, he frowned, standing up again as he slipped on black pants, before sidestepping around his bed to reach for his usual headband, still rather unsure about this whole ordeal.

Ten minutes ago, he'd still been painting the living room. Ten minutes ago, Gippal had also run out of said room wordlessly (though still rather loudly) with all the speed and annoying intensity of a fly. The blond hadn't given any explanation either, though had rampaged back into the room two seconds later and demanded that he, Baralai, stop painting and go upstairs and… what was it… _refresh_ himself.

Honestly, he wondered about the blond sometimes.

The praetor had protested, seeing as his goal for today had been to finish painting the living room. But Gippal had forcefully wrestled away his brush, called in a spare mover, and handed the dripping item to the bewildered artificial blunette, telling him that if the job wasn't finished by dinner, he'd suffer a serious flogging and be denied all pay.

Baralai hadn't been given a choice, really.

Slipping the band around his head, Baralai frowned, biting his lip. He was nervous, there was no doubt about that, seeing as Gippal had also told him five minutes ago something along the lines of "I, being my brilliant self, have found the perfect way to pay you back for my… bastardedness. Yes, never would you have guessed it… we're going sightseeing!"

Which explains Baralai's unease and sudden urge to shoot himself.

He didn't understand how the two of them going sightseeing could count as Gippal paying him back. The blond wasn't knowledgeable when it came to Bevelle sights; if they _were_ going to actually frolick around staring at Yevon landmarks, it was Baralai who was going to do the showing, and Gippal the one in awe and surprise. So basically, when the blond claimed that he was acting out his apology, it actually meant more leisure time for him and more work for the praetor.

Yep. It made perfect sense, didn't it? Add a bucket of sarcasm.

And besides, even if Baralai hadn't minded the extra work (honestly, going around with Gippal should be called of as 'babysitting' instead), he still wouldn't have been that pumped. Why? It was just… dumb.

Sightseeing. Hello?

Baralai let out a pent up breath, shutting his eyes. He'd admit, it probably wouldn't have been so bad if Gippal had decided to go sightseeing a week ago. But the fact remained that currently, he and the blond were in the role of two overly happy men (cough cough hack hack), and Bevelle, seeing as it was the holiest spot in Spira, sported a small population of narrow-minded, Yevon-loving freaks.

Not to be blunt or anything.

Glaring at his reflection again, the praetor finally turned away from his mirror and headed slowly towards the door. Stepping over the threshold, he paused, unconsciously tapping his nails on the doorframe (definitely a habit he should get rid of) as he gazed intently at his feet, deep in thought. Personally, he wouldn't mind walking around Bevelle in his current state. He dealt with matters like these all the time; it was something called a job. He could cope with them.

No. It wasn't himself he was worried about. It was Gippal.

Hadn't the blond hated… no, _despised _his previous outing several days ago?

And that'd been by himself. The praetor couldn't even imagine the outburst that would inevitably come when the people of Bevelle witnessed the pair of them together. The two sexually disorientated men.

It was only a matter of time before Gippal would probably kill himself.

Had the blond even thought about this? Or had the whole sightseeing ordeal just been another randomly spurred exploit that the Al Bhed would later regret? Knowing Gippal, it was probably the latter.

Baralai shook his head.

He waited downstairs for five minutes, nodding at passing workers and feeling extremely bored. He should have been working right now… It _was_ his house after all, and unlike some people, he enjoyed the feeling of satisfaction after knowing he'd done something to improve a possession. Frowning and tapping his foot against a box, the praetor shifted uncomfortably, eyes flickering up occasionally towards the clock in the kitchen, where he could just faintly read its numbers.

Where was Gippal?

Getting increasingly impatient, much to his surprise, seeing as he was usually a rather composed person, Baralai was just about to go back and pick up his painting job when the blond pranced into view, grinning his dazzling smile from up the stairs. The praetor rolled his eyes as Gippal slid down the length of the banister, dismounting with grace the silver-haired man didn't know he had.

He couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" Gippal asked curiously, crossing his arms.

Baralai shook his head. "Took you long enough."

The blond grinned cheekily at him. "Sorry. Makeup is _ever_ so time-consuming, as I'm sure you'd know." He dodged away from the blow he knew Baralai was bound to throw at him, smirking. "Nah, sorry. I was calling someone."

"Oh?" The praetor raised an eyebrow.

"Jealous?" the blond teased.

"Keeping wishing." Baralai furiously forced away any waver in his voice. Clearing his throat, he frowned. "Anyway, not to be rude or anything, but just why did you decide to take me… er… sightseeing? Not that it isn't such a _brilliant_ idea or anything," he added sarcastically.

The blond chuckled, ruffling his companion's hair. "_This_, my friend, is your problem. Loosen up, man. You shouldn't need an excuse to have fun. It's what life's for, you know? If you keep wasting it on politics and work, you'll be a second Nooj." He lowered his voice, leaning forward. Baralai blinked. "And you know no one wants that," the blond whispered, tugging lightly on a silver lock. "You've got all the wrinkles you need as it is."

"Hey!" Baralai yelped indignantly.

Gippal grinned, sliding past the pouting praetor and opening the door. Sunlight washed over the dim hall and Baralai squinted, watching as the blond slipped past the open door and stood, waiting, on the other side.

"Well?" the blond prompted.

The praetor had no choice but to follow, shrugging hair out of his eyes as he stepped outside. He closed the door, feeling considerably lighter as he did so, as well as experience a small dash of daring. He hadn't been outside in early morning on a weekday for ages. He could feel all previous flickers of doubt ebb away. Maybe Gippal had been right.

Almost as if he could tell what was going on in the praetor's mind, the blond grinned and offered his arm. "Shall we?" he asked in a mock accent, looking down his nose at Baralai, which was actually quite a difficult feat considering the fact that the praetor was still in the doorframe, therefore momentarily the taller of the two. Smiling, the silver-haired man slipped his arm through the blond's, and the two of them marched straight-backed across the lawn. It was only until the inner streets of Bevelle came into view did Baralai remember his previous concerns.

He stopped.

Beside him, the blond blinked, cocking his head. "Something up?" he asked softly, words mingling with the faint choruses of other voices. Baralai frowned.

"You don't have to do this for me, you know," he muttered, staring harshly at a wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gippal's calculating stare, one that he so rarely wore, seeing as it was usually replaced by the more common confused look. Baralai bit back a smile.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Last time, you hated walking around in Bevelle. You don't have to do it again, Gippal. There are plenty of other ways to pay me back." The praetor smiled, gaze shifting from the wall to a blue eye. He inched forward, elbowing the blond in the side. "Coins would have been a better apology. You know. The yellow ones. That start with a 'g' and end with an 'il'."

The blond laughed at this, shaking his head at the praetor's grin. "Never knew you were bitter, 'Lai," he said softly, poking the other in a ticklish spot, and the praetor squirmed away, glaring. "And you're right, I don't have to do this, but I want to." The blond shrugged. "I did think about the consequences, you know."

"That's a first."

"Hey! I'm not that stupid!"

"Could have fooled me," the praetor replied back smugly, though happily enough. So Gippal _did_ have a brain. He just… used it rarely. "So you really don't mind? You know you're wasting an entire day of your ever so carefully sculpted plan, practices and all."

Gippal raised an eyebrow, flicking Baralai on the nose. "They're not 'practices'. Hell, like either one of us needs practice in that department." He trailed off, laughing slightly, though when Baralai continued to stare expectantly at him, the blond sighed. "I just told it to you that way so you wouldn't punch me if I randomly kissed you or something. I mean, okay, we're both decent kissers, but what's the point if we're not used to each other?"

"Uh huh."

"And besides, what makes you think this entire day's going to go to waste? Don't flatter yourself, 'Lai. I'm doing this for me too. You know, to see how convincing we'll be in public before Sunday."

"Oh, and there I was, thinking you loved me," Baralai muttered sarcastically.

"Nice to know you don't wear that clunky coat all the time," Gippal piped up after a moment of silence. He frowned, pausing, before a small smile flickered across his face. "Speaking of which, I think you're missing something…" he whispered softly, grin growing. The blond inched forward, eyes fixed on the praetor's neck, who swallowed nervously.

"Really?" Baralai questioned, shifting uncomfortably. Gippal's hand found it's way to his, lacing their fingers together. "I… don't believe so."

"No, trust me, you're definitely missing something," the blond murmured, pressing his body against the other's, who attempted to back away before realizing that his back was to a wall. Crap.

Crap crap crap.

"Gippal…" he swallowed, shivered slightly as the blond's nose brushed softly against his neck.

"Hmm?" the Al Bhed drawled lazily, flicking out his tongue as he traced the other's collarbone. Baralai nearly jumped, tensing, though something about the way Gippal was holding his hand soothed him immediately, and he relaxed as the blond planted a trail of kisses onto his neck, barely touching him with his lips. It was so warm…

Baralai closed his eyes, letting out a small breath —

"HEY!"

The blond smirked, pulling away as the praetor clamped a hand to the spot where he now had Gippal's teeth engraved against his skin, rubbing furiously. "Vampire," he muttered, pushing the other off of him as he stepped away from the wall, continuing their previous way with a slightly larger ominous air. "That was completely unnecessary."

Gippal shrugged, slinging an arm around the praetor's shoulder. "_I _thought it was. Your own fault for not wearing your lurid green garb when needed."

"How does that have anything to do with this?"

"Well, seeing as we're supposed to be together, there's gotta be visible proof; otherwise no one would believe us. I wouldn't have done that to you if you had been wearing your coat with that freaking high collar, but hey. Bad timing, 'Lai." The blond smirked.

"Honestly, you have some serious judgement issues."

"You know you love it."

Baralai had to smile, though didn't give the blond the satisfaction of seeing it by elbowing him sharply in the ribs. While the Al Bhed staggered into the nearby wall, letting out a tangle of colorful words, the praetor examined him intently. There was something different about him… Like he was more open, more… He couldn't find a word for it. Well, either way, Gippal had undoubtedly changed. It wasn't that obvious; you had to really know him to see it, but it was there.

The praetor shook his head, grinning, and dodging a rampaging tackle from behind, sending the blond flying to the earth again. Al Bheds. So simple.

They had reached the center square, bickering still rather loudly and randomly, the praetor nitpicking at Gippal's faults and the blond shooting back rather incoherent excuses and ramblings, unknowingly attracting a rather large and disorientated crowd. It was only until a wall had been built around them comprised of saucer-sized eyes and hanging mouths did the praetor notice, rolling his eyes and poking Gippal in the side, who blinked, looking around, and snapped crossly, "What?"

Yes, Gippal had definitely changed, and though something told Baralai it wasn't a permanent one, he was grateful for it anyway.

The blond kept his cool for the majority of the first hour, smirking and grinning seductively at men and women alike, though the start of his new habit was halted when the praetor literally beat the crap out of him and dragged him away from a group of young women, hissing, "You're _gay_, dammit!" The blond had been promptly tied and tethered for a five minute timeout in the middle of a bathroom, grinning weakly at all passerby, while Baralai tapped his foot angrily against a tile outside. It was only until the blond screamed rape from inside a bathroom stall as he wormed his way away from a rather menacing old man did the praetor pity him and let him go, though only after several doses of firaga spells and a rather furious beating with a sledgehammer.

Gippal decided not to flirt after that, sticking close to his possessive, angry, and surprisingly evil epitome of a boyfriend for the day.

They passed several food stalls without incident, though disaster struck again when the two of them walked into a clothes department, when Gippal tensed, turned a violent shade of green, and lurched behind a bewildered Baralai, quivering.

"Er… Gippal?"

"Shut up and pretend you're alone!"

Baralai refrained from pointing out the fact that the two of them were standing in front of a row of mirrors, and that the only beings who wouldn't be able to see the blond would either have to be on drugs or be plain blind.

Only until a man in a repulsive neon coat (Baralai wrinkled his nose, feeling as if he'd gotten stupider just by looking at it) passed did the blond sigh and straighten up, only to be attacked by said man. The Al Bhed let out a rather feminine scream, raced around in several large circles with the man clinging to his leg, and promptly began beating his assaulter on the head, who seemed to overlook the fact that he was getting his brains dashed out and instead was overjoyed from the fact that the blond was touching him.

Baralai rubbed his temples, stood awkwardly by the sidelines as the number of onlookers increased, muttered about how stupid this was, and joined the fray, grabbing the stranger by the ears and hurtling him outside the shop, where he landed on his bottom and blinked dazedly at the sun.

Five minutes later, Gippal was his usual pompous self again, telling anyone who cared to know about his epic struggle and heroic escape from the neon hermit. The praetor gave him several minutes of glory before frog-marching the blond out of the store.

It was like babysitting all over again.

He sighed, and the blond looked down at him, surprised. "Something up?" he asked softly as the two of them walked past a saleswoman, whose glazed eyes were fixed intently on them and apparently had no idea she was being robbed.

"No, not really."

"If you say so." The blond grinned at him, his arm finding its way over the praetor's shoulders again. Behind them, a group of girls pouted and turned away, while two toothless men stared at them with hungry expressions in their eyes, reaching out for them as they passed. One of them caught a fistful of Baralai's pants, who raised an eyebrow and tried shaking him off. The man held on tighter, now giggling insanely.

"Lookit! I got ta praeto'!" he said hoarsely to his friend, who hadn't been nearly as successful in his mad groping.

Gippal cleared his throat.

Several screams and punches later, the blond slung his arm over the praetor's shoulders again. "So. Shall we continue?"

The praetor had a sudden newfound affection for the blond.

* * *

(1) Gasp! Do I sense… _foreshadowing?_ Mwahahahahaha!  
…  
Nah, just kidding. 

(2) **Gippal: **You… EVIL WOMAN!

**N. Arishima: **Why, whatever do you mean?

**Gippal: **You… you've been… You've been purposely making me out as some kind of ditz! I _knew _something was up after I fell of a couch two times in a row! You—

**N. Arishima:** Nonsense! Now, go and… and ravish Baralai or something. I'm busy— /type type/

**Gippal:** Aha! You're doing it again! It's all plotted out, isn't it? I mean, it's all too random to be a coincid— WAIT! IT WAS YOU! _YOU_ made me go down on Nooj! Why, you little—

**- This conversation has been deemed further inappropriate for virgin ears -**

**

* * *

**- End of Part One -**  
**


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